LOSS AND LOCKWOOD
by Chick Feed
Summary: In the couple of weeks since the death of John Winchester, things between Sam and Dean were becoming more and more strained as they each tried to deal with their grief. Despite that, when a message is left on John's phone, the two hunters respond; trying to carry on, saving people, hunting things, the family business...
1. Chapter 1

**_In the couple of weeks since the death of John Winchester, things between Sam and Dean were becoming more and more strained as they each tried to deal with their grief. Despite that, when a message is left on John's phone, the two hunters respond; trying to carry on, saving people, hunting things, the family business..._**

_Disclaimer: Didn't get them for Christmas, didn't get them for Easter, didn't get them for my birthday, so they're still Mr Kripke's...Not mine :(_

* * *

**LOSS AND LOCKWOOD **

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Prologue**

**o-o-o**

**1979**

Fresh from their first six weeks of tutoring, the newest intake of students setting out on the path to becoming mental health nurses were let loose, in pairs, onto the wards within the vast complex of the red brick Victorian asylum. The sprawling community sat within it's own large, mature grounds and was home to people who, for the main part, had lived there most of their lives. Some who were now in their sixties and seventies had been committed when they were little more than children.

People like "Topsy", who's thick old file showed she was sent there by her loving parents for "defiance". Or Mabel, diagnosed back in the day, when "Idiot" was a medical term. Kenneth, who was unfortunate enough to have suffered from childhood epilepsy. Martin, criminally insane, (because one day he turned on the father who frequently beat him mercilessly, and hit him back). Daisy, deemed to have "frequent blinking". Michael, vagrancy. And, whilst many inhabitants may not have actually had a mental illness upon admission, thanks to years of institutional living, they generally had one by now.

The majority of the wards were designated "Long Stay", and every ward manager patrolled their own kingdom, huge bunches of keys on lengths of chain hanging from their belts. As none of the wards were locked wards, and the huge wrought iron main entrance gates stayed permanently open, most of the keys these men (and the three or four female ward managers) carried no longer had any function, other than to signal their position and reinforce their power over the patients. Most wards being without uniforms to separate staff from patient, those who were employed to work there clung onto their keys as a method of identifying themselves as the "sane" amongst the "insane". In fact, whilst the staff who weren't working on the designated "elderly" wards were supposed to wear "mufti", virtually all the long standing male staff continued to wear their old "asylum suit" of charcoal grey jacket and trousers, another way of stating "I only work here."

The only therapy offered was drugs, and rarely did you find a patient who wasn't prescribed something or other, although sometimes it had been forgotten why. Of the eight hundred or so patients themselves, whilst all of them were free to leave the hospital grounds and go into the local town, or anywhere else for that matter, only a handful made use of their freedom to come and go. The rest chose to remain within the confines of the grounds. After all, most of their needs could be met there.

For those who wanted some structure to their day and to have a reason to get out of bed in the open dormitories, they could get employment of a sort at the on site light labour "factory" where they would be paid four or five dollars a week to fit together the component parts of wooden toys. They could spend their earning at the hospital's clothing boutique, or at the general store where they could buy such things as sweets and snacks, newspapers, tobacco products, toiletries and non alcoholic drinks. There was even a small "bank" where patients could open accounts and save their earnings if they so wished. For entertainment there was a patient's club on site with a bar. Here the patients could purchase a limited amount of beer, although there were no spirits allowed. The club was managed by staff members who ensured that no individual was allowed to buy enough alcohol to cause any trouble, or to interfere with their medication. The club had a pool table and over looked the hospital sports field. Friday and Saturday nights were Disco Night, a member of staff acting as DJ.

If any of the male patients were particularly well thought of, they might be invited to join the ground crew. The ground crew were commonly referred to as "Ginger's Boy's" (irrespective of their age), and they were overseen by Ginger himself, a short, stocky, red haired man with a ruddy complexion and an over large head. No one actually knew his age, but he should probably have retired years before. He was a man who cared a great deal about the well-being of his "boys". Ginger and his crew were responsible for the maintenance of the grounds, and they went out every day, whatever the weather conditions, to tend to the numerous flower beds, make sure that the grass was kept neat, prune the shrubs, sweep up dead leaves from the numerous mature trees, re-paint fences and wooden benches, sweep the paths and, when necessary, grit the narrow road which wound it's way through the grounds. When they were together, there was a sense of camaraderie between the patients who formed the ground crew. When they returned to their wards however, even if those who might reside on the same ward, never communicated or mixed in any way.

All the patients except those on the elderly wards, or those who might be ill in bed with some physical health issue, attended a vast communal dining hall for their meals. Whilst the patients ate, allocated staff would stand around leaning up against the walls of the dining area, chatting and keeping an astute eye out for any signs of trouble between patients. When trouble happened, it was dealt with quickly and forcefully.

Every summer the hospital held a sports day, and every Christmas, groups of staff and patients would perform a pantomime for the others. The hospital had it's own church on site and it's own chaplaincy, it also had it's own morgue.

Despite appearances, the place managed to function, all-be-it in it's own peculiar way. Today, Carla, age 20 and Dixi, aged 18, were beginning their first ever eight week ward based placement with an early morning shift that commenced at 7am. The pair had been allocated to Ward 25, a long stay ward which was also one of only two mixed sex wards in the whole of the hospital. The ward and the thirty patients residing on it was managed by one of the more infamous male Charge Nurse's, a man who had the reputation for directing a constant stream of lewd and suggestive behaviours and language toward almost every female student who happened to be designated to his ward, Mr Joseph Woods.

Carla and Dixi had already heard some of the stories credited to the man, and they had formed an agreement that they would look out for each other throughout the placement. Of the two girls, Carla was the more experienced when it came to looking after patients, having spent nearly two years working in a care home for the elderly. Dixi came from a family of nurses, both her mother and father were nurses in a local general hospital in the next town. Dixi herself, however, had spent her time taking on temporary jobs in bars and restaurants and, consequently, she was the more familiar of the two when it came to fending off the unwanted attentions of men.

Both girls paused outside the double doors leading onto Ward 25. Dixi turned to Carla.

"Well? You ready for this?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Ok then...Lets do it girl!"

**xxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. So there's the back ground. I hope it was interesting enough to get anyone who has read it curious enough to stay with me through another case fic for the guys?__Anyone who knows my ramblings will also know that I try to update _at least_ weekly so that no one is kept hanging around so long that they loose track.  
__Chick xxx_


	2. Chapter 2

_A.N. Dedicated to three people who are __**always**__ guaranteed to make me smile and who I consider to be friends, even though we've never met in the real world. This story is for you __**: SPNxBookworm, DEARHART**__ and, of course, __**mb64**__. You guys are the best! Chick xxxx_

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

**o-o-o**

"Hi...Er...This' a message for John Winchester. I, um...I think I might need your help. My name is Carla Donaghue, could you ring me please if you pick up this message? My phone number is 555010493. Thank you."

Ending the voicemail, Sam looked across at Dean.

"So what d'you think?"

Looking up from cleaning his gun, Dean shrugged nonchalantly.

"Give her a ring if you want to, find out what she's after...Let her know dad's dead."

Dean looked away again quickly, not wanting Sam to see how much it hurt to say those words out loud. It had only been two weeks, and Dean wasn't feeling ready to share. He knew Sam thought he was in denial. Truth was, Dean simply couldn't dare allow himself to show _anyone_ how devastated he was by the unexpected loss of the man who was both his father and his hero. He was afraid that if he let it out, he might never again be able to pull back and contain his grief, or the deep feelings of loss and abandonment. If he let the floodgates opened, he was afraid that he would drown.

...

Sam stared at the top of his older brother's head wishing, yet again, that Dean would let him in. Sam wanted, _needed_, to talk about his feelings but, the one person who would understand, had erected a barricade around himself that Sam had still been unable to break through. The death of John Winchester was a dark and shadowy chasm between the brothers and, until Dean decided he was ready, it looked set to stay that way. Since their dad's death, Sam often caught Dean looking at him when Dean thought Sam wasn't aware, and sometimes the expression that was on his older brother's face chilled Sam to his soul.

"Fine. Sounds like it could be a job. You want to take it?"

Dean didn't look up.

"Yeah...Great...Whatever..."

...

Sam leaned up against the Impala, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, he let the fine, light rain wash over his face, cooling him. He had left Dean in the motel room still busily checking and cleaning weapons, whilst he came outside to make the call. He needed a break from the constant weight of all the things left unsaid between his brother and himself. Sam stared at his father's phone, sat in the palm of his hand. How long? How long before it doesn't ring anymore? Before people stop trying to contact John? How many times would he have to say _I'm sorry, but John Winchester is dead_? And, how many times will it take before he himself can believe it? With a heartfelt sigh, Sam rang the woman's number.

"Hello?"

"Hello, er. You left a message for John Winchester? I'm his son, Sam Winchester."

"Oh. Hi Sam. Is John Winchester there? Can I speak to him?"

"I'm sorry, but John Winchester died recently. Can I help you?"

"Oh, shit..._Jeeze_...I mean, I'm sorry, really."

"Did you know my dad?"

"No...No, I didn't. I just..._Look_...Forget it, alright? I'm _really_ sorry to have bothered you..."

"No, honestly...It's ok. Your message said you thought you needed some help?"

...

Having finished with the weapons, Dean was now stretched out on top of his bed with his hands behind his head. He raised his head slightly when Sam came back into the room.

"Long call."

Sam lifted a hand bearing a cardboard tray with two cardboard cups of coffee balanced on it.

"Went to get us some breakfast."

Dean raised one eyebrow.

"Get anything else?"

Sam showed his brother the paper bag he held in his other hand.

"BLT, that do you?"

...

Sipping at his hot coffee, Sam watched as Dean ate his breakfast bun without any of his usual enthusiasm.

"Breakfast ok?"

Again Dean shrugged, it seemed to be becoming a habit of his lately.

"S'ok. You gonna tell me what that Carla woman wanted?"

Sam nodded, pleased that Dean was at least showing _some_ interest.

"Sure. The lady thinks she's being haunted."

"Only _thinks_ she is?"

"Well, I'm guessing it's not something she's experienced too often."

"Funny. So what's the story?"

"The woman, Carla, recently moved into a new luxury apartment, been there a couple of months. Apparently she used to work there..."

"What? In her apartment?"

"Kinda. But when she worked there it was a mental hospital, one of those really old asylum types? Apparently it closed down in the early nineties, the last of it's kind to do so. Most of the patients were shipped out to into small community based homes in the eighties. Those that couldn't be put anywhere else were allowed to stay. The hospital finally closed it's doors when the last of the old patients died. The whole place was abandoned for years, some legal problem that meant it couldn't be used as anything other than a hospital. Anyway, all that finally got cleared up and, since 2001 the whole place has been turned into a huge housing estate. As well as all the new builds, some of the old asylum buildings themselves were listed. They couldn't pull them down, so they've been converted into apartment complexes. Carla moved into one."

"Is there a Mr Carla?"

"Not any more. Died years ago in an RTA. He was a Psychiatrist apparently."

"I'm assuming she doesn't think it's _him_ that's hanging around?"

"No. She thinks it's more likely an ex patient or an old member of staff. Whoever it is, she wants them gone, and that's where _we_ come in."

"How did she get dad's number?"

"Through a friend of a friend on a social networking site."

Leaving his breakfast unfinished, Dean screwed the paper bag around it and tossed it into the bin. Draining his coffee, he stood up and grabbed his kit bag, throwing it onto his bed ready to begin packing.

"Care to tell me where we're headin'?"

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Hope this gave you a feel for the tone, I'm going angsty with this one - you have been warned! ;p  
__Chick xxx_


	3. Chapter 3

_A.N. So relieved to know that there's fellow fanficers who think that this offering might be worth reading! Hope I don't let you down __**:o  
**__Chick xxxx_

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

**o-o-o**

From the outset, Dean made it very clear he didn't want to talk, turning the volume of his music up high enough to block any attempts Sam might make to instigate any painful conversations. Realising how fruitless it would be to just reach over and turn the music down, Sam folded his arms and simply stared out of the passenger side window of the Impala, withdrawing into himself. He could feel Dean occasionally glancing at the back of his head, but he let it go, sick of having to wait for his brother to decide it was ok to talk and, really, too weary to care.

...

Sam was surprised to find that he had fallen asleep when a sharp nudge from Dean's elbow woke him. Disorientated, he unglued his cheek from the window, noticing that the car was stationary, it's engine turned off.

"Shake yourself Sleeping Beauty. Thought you might be ready for lunch, seeing as how you didn't have any breakfast, and I need the little boys room."

Sam yawned and peered through the window at the small, poxy looking garage and cafe that Dean had chosen to stop at.

"Yeah. Sure. Erm...Where are we?"

"Just this side of crapsville. You comin'?"

Without waiting, Dean got out of the car and stretched, before closing the driver's door and heading off toward the sign directing him to the "Conveniences" situated around the back of the dilapidated looking shed which served as the cafe. Sam sat and watched Dean walk away before extracting himself from the Impala. He sighed. Somehow he had to get Dean talking, even if it was only about the job. He'd had enough of the long hours of silence. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, Sam headed toward the cafe entrance.

...

Dean cautiously opened the door to the single communal toilet facility, pleasantly surprised to find that, on the inside, the area actually looked clean and smelled fresh. There was even soap in the dispenser, a stock pile of paper towels on a shelf by the side of it, and a waste bin. Above the tiny wash basin, someone had lop sidedly hung a small, plastic framed mirror. Turning on the single tap, Dean splashed the cold water onto his face, and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked pale, dark shadows encircled his eyes, his hair was stuck up crazily at one side, and flat at the other. Wetting one hand again, he combed his damp fingers over his head until he managed to create some kind of order out of the chaos. Resting both hands on the sides of the basin, he closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head.

"_Why_ dad? Why'm I still here and you're not? What'm I supposed to do? I need you with me dad...I _need_ you."

Opening his eyes again, Dean rubbed irritatedly at them, and the tears he saw forming there. He began to turn away from the mirror, then suddenly spun back around, his fist connecting with the glass, shattering it out of it's cheap plastic frame. There was a hesitant knock on the door followed by an uncertain sounding, and unfamiliar, male voice.

"Hey, erm, you ok in there? You need me to get some help?"

Dean took a deep breath.

"No...Thanks. I'm fine. I'll just be a minute."

...

Sam was poking suspiciously at a very basic, less than crisp and altogether unappealing tuna salad when Dean pulled out the battered wooden chair opposite Sam and sat down. Dean glanced at the food currently being shoved around on Sam's plate.

"Not recommending the salad then? Did you order coffee?"

Finally pushing the plate away, Sam nodded.

"Yeah. Menu's up on the chalk board if you're interested."

Dean turned to take a cursory look at what else the place had to offer. Sam noticed the new, fairly shallow, cut's on the knuckles of Dean's right hand. He had no need to ask about them, he knew the kind of manoeuvre they had been caused by, there had been occasions when Dean had used it on Sam. As a start point for trying to open up a conversation, it generally wasn't very successful, but, ever stubborn, Sam had a go anyway.

"Dean.,.,.,.,.?"

The look on Dean's face was Sam's warning signal to stop right there.

"_Sam_!"

To Hell with it.

"We_ really_ need to talk. I can't..._We..._Can't carry on like this."

Dean's glare grew colder.

"Oh...I don't know. I'm kinda _enjoying_ not having you yammering constantly in my ear. Finally! Coffee."

Sam used the breathing space created by the waitress delivering their coffees to get a grip on the anger he could feel rising up in response to his brother's attitude which, Sam knew full well, was totally intended to trigger an argument and in doing so, divert Sam from his current path. _Not this time big brother, not gonna make it __**that**__ easy for you!_ As soon as the waitress walked away, Sam pushed on, ignoring Dean's barb.

"All I'm saying is, if you want to carry on sticking your head in the sand and your ass up in the air, fine. I _know_ how bad you're felling, I'm feeling it.,.,.,.,.,."

"Do you..._Sammy_? Do you _really_? Remind me again...How long were dad and me alone while you were swanking around at Stanford, pretending you _had_ no family? Dad had _already_ died as far as you were concerned, but you know what? It's still kinda new to me. So I apologise if it's taking me some time gettin' used to; but I can't turn my back on family as easily as _you_ can...Have I talked enough for you yet?"

Leaving his coffee unfinished, Sam stood up from the small, rickety table. Putting both hands flat to the table top, Sam leaned forward, his face inches away from his older brother's, his voice a hissed whisper.

"_Fine_! Have it your way...Lets just hope this doesn't end up with one of us gettin' seriously hurt on this job."

Leaving no room for any reply, Sam straightened up and strode out of the cafe, pausing only long enough to throw the price of the salad and coffee's at the startled waitress behind the counter.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. That's it for now. I'm planning to post the next chapter mid-week sometime but I've __**got**__ to do at least __**some**__ housework & laundry, can't have my other half going naked to work! ;p  
__Chick xxxx_


	4. Chapter 4

_A.N. Not even mid-week yet an' I've managed to get another chapter up. You never know, this might mean that another one will appear before the weekend! :)_

**_GUEST - thank you _****so****_ much for the lovely reviews, hope you get to see this message. _**_Chick xxx_

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**o-o-o**

Dean very deliberately took his time drinking the mug of bitter coffee, not ready yet to be confined in close quarters with Sam. He'd already done the damage, he couldn't unsay his words, no matter how much he wished he could, and he knew that a couple of wise cracks wasn't going to be enough to get his brother and himself back on track _this_ time.

_"Shit!"_

_..._

Sam was leaning up against the front passenger door of the Impala, his back to Dean when Dean finally walked over. He didn't bother to turn around, not wanting Dean to see the tears he was trying to hold in. Looking at the set of Sam's back, Dean paused for a second, then with a shake of his head he unlocked the car and wordlessly climbed in, eyes to the front whilst he waited for Sam to do the same. Instead, Sam suddenly moved swiftly to the trunk and opened it up. Dean frowned, he could hear Sam rummaging around. _What the Hell?_ The trunk slammed shut again, and Sam appeared at the driver's side window, his kit bag slung over one shoulder. He gave a quick tap on the window. His frown deepening, Dean opened the window and looked pointedly at the kit bag.

"Something I should know?"

Sam held out a piece of paper to him, Dean took it curiously.

"That's Carla's address and phone number. She's expecting the two of us, but I'm sure you'll be able to think of something to tell her. I'll send you a text when I find somewhere to stay, just so you know I'm ok...If you're _interested_ that is."

Sam turned on his heels and began walking over toward an eighteen wheeler that had pulled into the garage. Scrap of paper still clutched in his hand Dean sat, frozen, staring after his brother. He watched as Sam approached the truck driver and struck up a conversation with him. He was going to do it...Sam was _actually_ going to leave him!

"_Sonovabitch_!"

...

Firing up the engine, Dean hit the accelerator and sped across to the garage forecourt. The Impala's wheels squealed in protest as Dean cornered sharply, bringing the car to a sudden standstill as he pulled her up, angled across the front of the truck, blocking it's path. Both the truck driver and Sam looked around at him.

"Oi! _Pal_! What the fuck're you playin' at? You can't stop there, _moron_!"

Seeing the fury flare in Dean's eyes, Sam placed a placating hand on the trucker's shoulder.

"It's ok. It's my brother, I'll deal with it."

Dean was already out of the car and gearing up to go one on one with the driver when Sam stepped in front of him, breaking the line of sight between the driver and Dean. Dean switched his glare onto Sam.

"Get in the car Sammy."

"Dean, I.,.,.,."

"I _said_...Get..in..the car! _Now_!"

Sam clamped his mouth shut in a tight line, and Dean immediately recognised Sam's stubborn streak rearing it's head. Dean's tone instantly became calmer, reassuring, almost pleading.

"You want to talk Sammy? Fine. We'll talk. Just, don't do this. Not now. Get in the car..._Please_?"

At first, Sam didn't move, then his whole tense posture slumped, and he turned his head to look back at the truck driver.

"Sorry to have bothered you, friend. I've decided I'll go with my brother."

The driver looked at each of the Winchester's in turn.

"You sure you two're brother's? Way you're acting, you're more like a married couple!"

Sam forced a grin.

"Sure feels that way sometimes."

...

Dean reversed, clearing the way for the truck driver. Hands still on the wheel, he glanced across at Sam who was sat, rigidly upright in the passenger seat. Dean gave a sigh.

"So...You wanna go back in that smart cafe to talk? Or would you rather do it on the road? Or should I just find somewhere else to pull in?...Sammy?"

Sammy suddenly felt emotionally exhausted and he slouched down in his seat.

"Whatever, dude."

Dean gave a nod of his head.

"Ok then. Find somewhere to pull up it is."

...

Pulling off the main highway and onto a quieter minor road, Dean turned the Impala into the fist lay by that presented itself. For a while, neither brother moved or spoke. _Great! First he's naggin' me to talk, now he's sits there being about as talkative as a rock_. Dean didn't want to be the one to break the silence, but he'd agreed to talk, so he was damn well _going_ to talk! He cleared his throat.

"I guess I get to go first, huh?"

Sam remained still and silent. No _way_ was he going to make this easy on Dean.

"Ok, well...What I said to you back there? I admit, it was harsh. I was wrong to say it and...I'm sorry, ok?...Sammy?"

Sam's voice was quiet, his words measured, a clear signal that he was _beyond _pissed.

"No Dean. It's not ok. What you said to me? That was a million_ miles_ away from being ok and you know it. You're always making this big deal about it being your job to look out for me, _keep Sammy safe, protect him_. Well, right now? It's you I need protecting from...Funny really, you go completely ape shit if anything we're hunting hurts me, but then you always seem to think it's ok for _you_ to do it."

Dean tried to protest.

"Sam, I.,.,.,."

"I haven't finished yet. Dad's dead. And guess what? You don't have sole rights on feeling that pain. He was my dad too, and whatever else was between him and me? I never hated him. I _never _wanted him dead...You want to keep everything inside, pretend you're ok, and that's fine. But you know what? I'm _not_ ok and...And, neither are you...That's it...I've finished now."

Finally, Sam turned to look at his brother. Dean had both hands on the steering wheel, gripping it tight enough to turn his knuckles white, his head was bowed, only his profile showing, but Sam still saw the damp track that ran down Dean's cheek, and heard the gasped intake of breath as Dean tried to take back control, fighting to stop any further tears from forming. Sam's anger immediately dissipated.

"Dean?"

Still not meeting Sam's eyes, Dean shook his head.

"Please Sam...I...I can't. It hurts...too much."

Sam sighed.

"I know Dean. I do...Look, why don't I drive? You look like you could probably do with a break."

There was no argument, Dean simply left the keys hanging in the ignition before vacating the driver's seat and walking slowly round to the passenger side, hesitating as he and Sam were about to pass each other. He spoke so quietly, that Sam almost missed it.

"Thanks Sam and... Really...I _am_ sorry, for _everything_."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Really hoping this is hitting the spot for all you angst lovers!  
__Hugs.  
__Chick xxx_


	5. Chapter 5

_A.N. It's the weekend tra la laaa, gonna write some story tra la laaa, and slob around in sweat pants tra la __laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa__! Chick :D_

_And once more to_ **Guest****,** _so much __**thank you**__! I just wish I could reply  
__direct to let you_ _know how much I appreciate your words._

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**o-o-o**

Dean was clearly exhausted, falling asleep more or less straight away with his head resting against the side window, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts. Finding a radio station playing popular classics, Sam tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to focus on the music. Unfortunately, he still found himself picturing the image of his father laying dead, on the floor of the hospital room. The music quickly began to irritate, so he turned it off again, and started re-playing the heated words that Dean had thrown at him in the cafe. Sam had always hoped that his brother had been pleased for him, for managing to hitch a ride to normal. He thought that's what Dean had wanted him to be able to do. Apparently not.

...

Coming into the outskirts of the town, Sam reached over with one arm and cuffed Dean around the head, intentionally a little harder than was necessary, in order to rouse him from his sleep.

"Wha?...What the Hell Sam?"

Sam didn't take his eyes off the road.

"We're here. I need you to look at the map, find us some place to stay."

Dean glared at Sam's profile but said nothing, instead he duly began to rummage in the glove compartment for the map.

"What direction are we travelling in?"

"North West. We've just hit the edge of town. The vic. lives across the other side. The old hospital was originally built in open countryside. Over the years, the town spread. The hospital ended up becoming a part of it by the early sixties."

Dean grunted.

"Thanks for the history lesson...Ok, I've got the old hospital site, looks like there's a motel six or seven of miles north of there. Guess that'll do us."

...

Initially Dean tried making mundane conversation, commenting on the things they passed, trying to get Sam to guess who the ghost might be, patient or staff? It was hard work though, and eventually he gave up, leaving Sam to come around in his own time. The motel when they pulled up didn't look too bad. Not as good as some, but certainly better than most. Opening the passenger side door, Dean cleared his throat and turned to his brother.

"I'll go check us in...Am I getting one room?...Or, should I ask for two singles?"

There was a pause whilst Sam seemed to consider the question, at last shrugging his shoulders.

"Whatever...One room between us'll be cheaper is all."

Dean nodded and climbed out of the car, setting off towards the reception.

...

Still sat in the Impala, Sam sighed. Dean had apologised, _really_ apologised. They were supposed to be ok now; so how come he _still_ felt so pissed? Great! _Now_ he was feeling angry at himself for still being angry! After giving himself time to take a few deep breaths, Sam finally got out of the car just as Dean was heading back. Sam called to him.

"Hey...We sorted?"

Sam spotted the brief flash of surprise that crossed Dean's face, before it was quickly reigned in again.

"Er, yeah. Yeah, we're good. We're around back, number 28, last one on the right. It's er...It's a two bedroom...Is that ok?"

Feeling the guilt serpant rearing it's head, Sam closed his eye's for a second. When he opened them again, he gave Dean a broad smile.

"Sure! That's fine...Guess you'll be playing the big brother card and getting first choice? Or, how about a couple of hands of cards? Winner gets to choose, looser pays for dinner?"

Dean knew Sam was trying to ease the atmosphere that had been hanging around, and no way was he about to rebuke Sam's efforts.

"Cards it is. But I warn you baby brother, I'm gonna beat your ass, and then it's gonna cost you!"

...

As it turned out, both the bedrooms were pretty much the same. The only real difference being the view from the window and, the colour. In one everything was in shades of cool blues. The second, however, was blessed by a variety pack of pink hues. Dean tried claiming that, because Sam was a girl, then he should automatically go with the pink room. Sam, however, insisted they play for it. And so it was that Dean eventually threw his kit bag down onto the Barbie pink bedding, and began to unpack. He could hear Sam moving around in the next room, he briefly considered knocking on the wall and making some wiseass remark about how thin the walls were. Instead, Dean sat down on the end of the bed and glanced around.

...

He couldn't remember when he and Sam had last been together, but had separate bedrooms. He was used to being able to hear the sounds of Sam sleeping in the bed next to his, waking up and looking over to check whether Sam was still sleeping, or was up and about. It felt strange, having a wall between them, or there again...Maybe not. Dean recognised that, in a way, there was _already_ a wall between them. One that felt like it had been gradually getting higher, ever since the death of their dad. The only difference was that, until now, it hadn't existed in the physical sense. Turning his head, Dean stared at the solid wall dividing them, thinking how easy it would be to break through the physical barrier, and how so damn hard it seemed to be for _either_ of them to tear a way through the metaphorical one.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Ooooo, analogies and philosophicals! Better go lie down now! More tomorrow.  
__Chick x_


	6. Chapter 6

_A.N. Another one, just for you._

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

**o-o-o**

Sam rang Carla whilst Dean was in the shower, she answered at the third ring.

"Hi Carla, it's Sam Winchester."

"Oh. Hi Sam, it's good to hear from you. Whereabouts are you ringing from?"

"Actually, Dean and I are both in town. We've booked into a motel not far away from where you are, The Keys Motel. Do you know it?"

"Sure, I know the one. It gets it's name from the huge bunches of keys that the staff used to carry around with them, back when this place was officially referred to as an asylum. It had already changed to being called a hospital by the time _I_ first came to work here."

"When was that?"

"When I started here? 1979, and a handful of the old asylum attendants were still on the pay role at that period...So, now you're here, what's the plan? I guess we should meet up?"

"How about tomorrow sometime? We'll come to you, if that's ok?"

"That's great Sam. Just give me a time and I'll be here."

...

Both still working to, at the very least, avoid the silences of grief, Sam allowed himself to be persuaded to visit one of the town bars and eat out. For a change, Dean didn't seek out his preferred kind of place, instead taking care to check out the town guide on the net and find somewhere he knew would be more to Sam's liking. A small act of thoughtfulness that was appreciated by Sam. The customer base in the bar seemed to be a mix of both blue collar and white collar workers, primarily those in the thirties to forties age range. There was no old fashioned jukebox in the bar, instead the music was piped and blandly neutral. All the bar staff followed a loose dress code of navy blue on the bottom, white on top. Although there didn't appear to be any fixed style of clothing, leaving the staff to put their own spin on the front of house dress codes. The meal menu's were typed and slid into faux leather binders. Sam was delighted to find an interesting selection of vegetarian suitable meals, beyond the normal _Leaf Salad_ or_ Lentil Soup. _Whilst Dean's inner carnivore found plenty to interest him. He opted for the gammon and egg with a medley of roast vegetables and a wild mushroom sauce, but didn't rise to the bait of a side order of fries

"Have you decided yet Sam? Or should I ask the waitress to come over next week sometime?"

Sam gave Dean a small smile. When the pretty, but tired looking, waitress came over to their booth to take their orders, Dean's smile broadened. And suddenly the waitress didn't look nearly so tired as she returned Dean's smile with an equally bright one of her own.

"You two guys about ready to order?"

Dean read the waitress' name tag.

"Hi..._Janice_...I'll have the gammon, hold the fries, and my _brother_...Sam?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll have the vegetarian lasagne with the seasonal pan fried veg please."

"No problem...Either of you _brothers_ want to order drinks with your meal?"

As the waitress confirmed she had caught the word _brother,_ she aimed a slow, promising, wink at Dean.

...

Dean leaned slightly to one side, positioning himself to have a better view of Janice's rear as she went to place their orders. Sam gave him a look of exasperation.

"Maybe you _should've_ got us two separate rooms at the motel."

Dean shook his head.

"No. Not interested. She just looked tired, thought I'd try cheering her up. You can stop with the look. I'm not gonna be sneaking her back into my _pink _room, ok?"

Sam looked surprised.

"You're not interested? Are you feeling ok? You _do_ know she's female, don't you?"

Dean frowned briefly, then it was gone and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Like I said, not interested. Any chance we could talk about something else? Like say, the job we're supposed to be here for f'rinstance?"

Sam stiffened, the temptation to bite back jumping to the fore. Instead, he swallowed it down, forced himself to unwind and nodded.

"Sure. There's not much else to tell you. Carla was pretty adamant that it's a haunting, so in itself it should be a straight forward salt and burn. We just need to figure out, if it_ is_ a haunting, is it specifically targeting Carla, or is it haunting the place and, obviously, who's actually_ doing _ the haunting? My guess is the spirit's haunting the actual place. Carla got it at a reduced price. Before that it was offered as a rental once the conversion had been completed. That was around eighteen moths ago, and there were three separate tenants before the place was offered for sale. That's a fast turnover of tenants by _anyone's_ standards."

Dean nodded his agreement.

"So, this Carla woman...Has she said what kind of experiences she's having?"

"No. We can get all that off her tomorrow when we go over there."

...

At that moment Janice appeared with their drinks, her gaze immediately fixing on Dean. However, her smile faltered and she looked in confusion at the top of Dean's head as, without acknowledging Janice, Dean appeared to have a sudden and urgent need to check his cell for messages. The waitress hesitated, uncertain, until Sam directed her attention away from Dean's clear avoidance, and onto himself.

"Thanks Janice. That's great."

Putting the drinks on the table, Janice turned to give Sam a brief smile, before beating a hasty retreat. Once she was no longer in view, Dean put his cell away again.

...

There were so many things Sam felt like saying about Dean blatantly ignoring the waitress he had so recently been flirting with, any one of which could be the trigger for more sharp words being exchanged, followed by silence. At some point, an argument was on the cards, Sam knew it, and he recognised that Dean knew it too. Here though, was not the place. Sam kept his tone light hearted, signalling to Dean that he meant no offence.

"I think your chances of getting extra pie just took a major nose dive. Of course, _mine_ could now have taken a turn for the better. Tell you what, if _I_ get extra, I'll split it with you. Deal?"

To Sam's relief, Dean smiled.

"Deal."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Good night, sweet dreams._

_Chick xxx_


	7. Chapter 7

_A.N. __Warning__: Turning the angst levels up to Defcon __1__. Alert, alert, alert..._

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**o-o-o**

It was weird for both of them, staying in the same motel room but heading for separate rooms, instead of just separate beds. In response, and in part as reassurance for each other and themselves that it was no big deal, both brothers threw comments back and forth about the other one's supposed sleeping habits which they claimed they wouldn't miss that night. And yet, as they simultaneously closed their own bedroom doors, they both stopped, pausing to look around their individual rooms.

...

Dean recalled the countless times that he was left to hunt alone, Sam being at Stanford and his dad being..._who knew where_? Sam, looking around at _his_ space, also drifted back to his time at Stanford and away from his family. He wondered what the friends he had made there would be doing right now? What he himself would have been doing, and whether there would ever come a day when he would have the chance to be part of university life again? Inevitably, as was always the way when he thought of Stanford, he thoughts turned to Jess. His memory of her these days most often conjured up the same sickening image of the woman he loved burning alive, held up against the ceiling by demonic forces. Sam had unknowingly laid on the bed, directly beneath where Jess was held. The horror of that scene when he opened his eyes would never leave him, tattooed forever in his conscience as the image was. Nor would the knowledge that he had been unable to do anything to save her.

...

Since then, it didn't matter how many people he had saved as a hunter, their numbers could never make up for the death of the woman he loved, and who he believed he had failed. Dean hunted because that was his life. It was his profession, it was who Dean was. Sam, however, was hunting because he was driven by the very same thing that had driven John Winchester...revenge. The desire to kill the Yellow Eyed Demon, and by doing so, avenge the death of the mother he didn't remember, the woman he had loved and, now, his father.

...

Sam sat down on the edge of his bed and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, as though trying to physically erase the image of Jess from his mind. He needed to be able to focus on something else, push those images back into their box, deep inside of him. Otherwise, Sam knew, his sleep would be filled with nightmares. He reached for his laptop, lifting it from the bedside cabinet it had been left on. Opening it, he typed in _Lockwood Asylum_.

...

Dean didn't bother to undress, he simply laid down on top of the bed, his hands resting on his chest. He struggled to settle in the quiet of the room, it was  
unnatural. He was surprised to find how much he missed the sounds of his brother settling down to sleep. The soft, reassuring sound of Sam's breathing, how it altered when Sam finally fell to sleep, the occasional sound of his brother changing his position. These sounds were Dean's lullaby, his assurance that things were ok, the noises that kept the monsters from crawling under Dean's bed. Without the comfort of those noises to focus on, Dean's mind was left to wander, and wander it did. Straight back to the fierce burden of the words whispered to him by his father whilst Dean lay in the hospital bed. John Winchester's last goodbye to the son who worshipped him. _Way to go dad. You sure knew how to make an exit man. Drop the bomb, shred the instruction manual and run. Leave me alone, high and dry, trying to defuse it. Thanks for that...You bastard!_

...

Suddenly Dean was awake. At first he was surprised that he had fallen asleep in the first place, then he wondered what had woken him so quickly? He wasn't left wondering for long. The sound was all too familiar, whimpers of distress, half formed sobs, a soft voice repeating _No_. Sam was having a nightmare. Dean rolled over and stared at the wall between them, straight away irritated at it's presence. He would usually watch Sam, waiting to see if his brother was going to settle again, or whether Sam's dream was bad enough for Dean to need to wake him, and make the nightmare stop. It was something Dean had been doing for his brother for years, ever since Sammy was a young boy who suddenly found out that monsters exist, and that his family didn't hide from them; _his_ family went looking for them and, quite often,_ they_ would come looking for him and his family. Dean didn't know it, but it was from then, the moment he found out the things in his nightmares were real, that Sam had begun to wonder if he could ever get out, and be able to be like the other kids he met in each new school the brothers were enrolled at. Dean heard his brother's voice again.

"Jess, Jess...I'm so sorry...Wait..."

Now knowing what it was that Sam was dreaming about, Dean got up from his own bed, and headed for his brother's room.

...

Dean quietly stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind him. His eyes already having adjusted to the dark, he could see Sam, dressed in his sleep joggers, sprawled at an angle across the bed, laying face down. His bedcovers were in a tangled heap on the floor where, Dean guessed, Sam had kicked them whilst he dreamt. Sam rolled over and began muttering again as Dean crossed to the side of his bed.

"Save her...Havta save..."

Keeping himself as much out of harm's way as he could, Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Sam, Sammy. It's Dean. Wake up Sam. C'mon. It's just a dream Sammy..."

Throwing Dean's hand off, Sam sat bolt upright with a gasp. Dean immediately moved into Sam's line of sight.

"S'ok Sammy, calm down, you're ok. Bad dream is all, you with me?"

Rubbing a hand over his face, Sam nodded.

"Yeah..Yeah. M'ok..._Crap_!"

Dean sat down on the edge of his brother's bed.

"Bad one huh?"

Again Sam nodded.

"Yeah...Jess..Y'know?"

"I know...I guess dad dying is bound to trigger other stuff, other bad memories."

Sam looked at Dean curiously.

"You been having nightmares too?"

With a sad, half smile Dean shook his head.

"Nah...don't think so. I'm sure I will at some point. First though...I think I have to believe he's gone, an' I'm still struggling with that one Sammy. I can't stop myself from thinking he's still out there, hunting things...Sam...I've never thought he was perfect, you know? I mean, the man let you.._us.._down _countless_ times, as kids _and_ as adults. He wasn't there so many times when we needed him, didn't even answer when we rang. He forgot birthdays, stayed away at Christmas without so much as a phone call to say _how you both doin' _and made too many promises that he didn't keep; but...I still loved the guy Sammy, despite everything."

Dean's face was turned towards the window, his eyes held a distant stare as his features slowly grew clearer and sharper as the dawn gradually began to chase away the night. Not wanting Dean to stop talking, Sam stayed silent, and waited.

"I dunno _why_ I've always stayed so loyal to him Sammy..._Huh!_...Maybe I was hoping that if I just stayed loyal, obeyed, and carried on loving him; maybe one day he just _might_ tell me he was proud to have me for a son. I guess that's all I ever really wanted from him, why I stood up for him and, why I kept forgiving him...Course, there's _one_ thing that I can _never_ forgive him for, and that's what he said to you, that night you walked out and left us to go to Stanford. I blamed him Sam...We didn't talk for days after you'd gone...I think he was expecting me to go too. Then, we argued. We fought each other, took our anger out on each other. I know it scared him...Whenever he looked at me after that fight...Well...I think it terrified him, seeing what he was capable of. That's when him and me separated, when he walked away and left me to hunt on my own. Said it was to keep me safe. Dunno anymore though if he meant from the Yellow eyed Demon, or from him..."

...

Sam moved closer to his brother, wanting to comfort him.

"Dean...I..."

Dean finally turned to look at Sam.

"Please Sammy, _don't_ say you're sorry. It really wasn't your fault. It was mine. I should've held things together, should've backed you up, made Dad see how good it was that you had the opportunity to be something different, something better. I've let you both down Sam, you _and_ dad."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, to try to make Dean see sense, but Dean quickly stood up. Turning his back on Sam, he headed for the doorway.

"I'm tired Sammy. I'm goin' to try for a couple more hours sleep. Maybe you should too? G'night."

There was nothing Sam could do, except stare after his brother as Dean left, softly closing the door to Sam's bedroom behind him.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Is everybody feeling happy?;p_

_Chick xxx_


	8. Chapter 8

_A.N. Up and about early with loads of time before work, so here's another chapter._

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**o-o-o**

With Dean's unexpected words repeating in his head, and his worry about how much unwarranted blame Dean carried, there was no way that Sam was going to be able to return to sleep. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ settle until he had composed his response to Dean. He_ had_ to make Dean see that he wasn't to blame. Sam never considered that Dean might think the argument that had occurred that night between himself and John, was somehow all down to Dean. Sam had been going to take up the place at Stanford whatever, he was _certain_ Dean already knew that..._didn't he_? Sam hadn't planned to walk out in anger, and the fact that it ended up that way, sure as Hell wasn't Dean's fault. Sam desperately wanted to make his brother understand that, and he had to curb the desire to chase into Dean's bedroom immediately in order to persuade him. Instead, he restlessly wandered out to the small kitchenette and busied himself making coffee. It was half way through pouring the hot, dark liquid into a mug, that Sam froze, as a sudden realisation kicked in, and he heard Dean's voice repeating inside his head _Whenever he looked at me after that fight...I think it terrified him,_ _seeing what he was capable of_...

...

When Dean finally emerged out of his bedroom, intending to hit the shower, it was to find Sam sat staring at him, arms folded, a look of anger on his face. Dean hesitated, tried for light.

"Hey, no big..._You_ have first shower then."

The anger stayed on Sam's face.

"Why didn't you tell me back then?"

"Tell you _what_ Sam? I ain't no mind reader."

"About the fight."

"Oh...That."

"Well?"

"What's there to tell? You left, dad an' me argued, it got physical. End. Look Sam, I never meant to mention it, I'm sorry. It's long gone and dad's dead. Leave it at that can't you? I'm goin' for my shower."

As Dean headed off again, he suddenly found Sam, all six foot millions of little brother, standing in front of him, physically blocking his way. Not bothering to look up at Sam's face, Dean sighed and his shoulders sagged, as if to signal defeat.

"Fine Sam. You wanna use me as a punch bag as well? Get rid of some of that anger? Go ahead, get it over with...Then let me go get a shower."

Dean's words hit Sam harder than any blow could have, and he instantly backed away from Dean, his hands held up to show he meant no harm.

"_No_...I _wasn't..._I didn't mean...Dean, _I'm sorry_, please..."

Dean raised his head and looked Sam in the eyes, his words were quietly delivered, but they screamed inside Sam's head.

"You've always been just like dad."

Dean walked past him and into the bathroom, closing the door. Sam heard the sound of the lock turning. Shakily, Sam moved and flopped back down on his chair. He stared at his trembling hands. Dean was right, there _had_ been a moment there when he'd wanted to punch the story out of his brother. _You've always been just like dad_..

_"Sonovabitch."_

...

Dean stood, head bowed, one hand against the tiled wall as he let the hot water run over him soothingly. He had already made his mind up, there was going to be no more chick flick talkie moments from _him_, it only led to trouble, things said that should never _be_ said. Talking about stuff only seemed to open up old wounds, and it sure as Hell didn't seem to make anything better. Let Sam get his rocks off talking, but for Dean Winchester, silence was golden. He heard the sound of the door to the motel room firmly closing, and assumed that Sam had gone out, or had left. Whichever it was, Dean decided that cutting his shower short wouldn't change anything, so he stayed where he was and reached for the shampoo.

...

Dressed in clean clothes and rubbing his damp hair with a towel, Dean wandered out of the bathroom, straight away noticing the hand written note on the small, circular dining table. Picking it up with his free hand, he glanced at Sam's writing. A part of him was surprised to see that Sam hadn't left completely, but that he'd only gone out to buy breakfast for them. Throwing the towel over the back of one of the dining chairs, Dean began to lay the table. That done, he poured himself a coffee before emptying out the remains and getting a fresh pot on the go. Opening the single cupboard in the kitchenette, he pulled out two clean mugs, and stopped. With a small smile, he also grabbed a glass tumbler.

...

When Sam walked back into the room carrying breakfast in a large paper bag, it was to find Dean sat in the lounge area on the tiny two seat couch, flicking through an ancient boating magazine that had been left on the coffee table. Sam's eyes were drawn to the dining table, carefully set out for two. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the glass tumbler stood in the middle of the table, half full of water and containing a single and slightly worse for wear, non descript, flowering weed surrounded by grass. Pretending to still be reading an article in the magazine, Dean furtively watched Sam from under his lashes, waiting for his reaction. Sam made a bee line for the table, his focus on the tumbler.

"Oh my God! Dean!"

In a piece of over dramatised theatre, Sam put down his paper bag and bent down low, inhaling deeply of the wilting, non-scented, weed, then straightened up and turned to look at Dean, who was by now openly watching him.

"I...I don't know what to say Dean, _really_."

Relieved that Sam was taking the joke as it was meant, Dean grinned. Still over-acting dreadfully, Sam clasped both his hands together in an attitude of delight, whilst throwing a coy look at Dean.

"You _do_ know that you're spoiling me, don't you? Don't be surprised if I start to expect a bunch of...grass..._every_ day, will you?"

With a snort of laughter, Dean stood up and walked over to join Sam at the table.

"See Sammy? I always said you were really a girl! What's for breakfast...Samantha?"

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. See? They _can_ both still smile ;p Chick xxx_


	9. Chapter 9

_A.N. Hello again :D_

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

**o-o-o**

Dean pulled up next to a brushed steel post situated at the side of the road which lead through the huge double wrought iron gates and into the Lockwood gated community. Above a square button set flush into the post was the legend _Please Ring_ _for Attention. _Reaching out of the open driver's side window, Dean duly gave the button a push. Almost immediately, a deep male voice came from the speaker set just below the call button.

"Good morning...Can I help you?"

Dean grimaced, he never liked talking to these things.

"Er...Yeah...We're here to visit a friend."

"Which part of the community will you be heading to sir?"

"Er, hang on..._Sam_?"

"Beechwood Apartments."

"Did you get that?"

"Yes sir, Beechwood Apartments. Business or social visit?"

"_For Chrissa_...I already said...Social. Anything else you'd like to know? My _bra_ size say?"

"That won't be necessary sir, although I _would_ like to reassure you that we welcome _everyone_ here at Lockwood...Including members of the transvestite community. Have a nice day sir."

There was the sound of the intercom system being turned off as the gates smoothly began to open. Dean glared at the metal post.

"You complete ass-wipe!"

Sam sniggered.

"I think he's cut you off dude. Watch he doesn't try shutting the gates on you half way through."

Dean's glare transformed into a look of worry, and Sam was jerked back in his seat as the Impala suddenly shot through the gates.

...

The original exterior of the three story, double fronted Beechwood apartment block was built out of hand made, deep burgundy red, Victorian bricks. It's decoratively shaped edging bricks were all heavily carved with scrolls and leaves. The developers had been able to restore and keep to the original thick slab like stone roofing tiles and had the foresight to retain the old terracotta crown topped chimney pots, even replacing those that were damaged with the same style pots, sourced from various salvage companies. Where original fittings had to be replaced with modern alternatives, such as the eight foot long, multi paned wooden sash windows, it had been done with a degree of sympathy, so that the modern triple glazed windows closely mimicked the multi pane style of the originals. Sited centrally to the long building was the original flight of six wide stone steps, leading up to the large communal entranceway, with it's two sets of half glazed double doors. In the attempt to keep the exterior as original as possible, Virginia Creepers had been planted at either side of the entry, trained up the wall and over the doorway, where they twined together in greeting at the mid-point, just as the original plants had, back in the day. Overall, the building was both beautiful and imposing. Parking the Impala in the designated visitor's area Dean climbed out and, turning to look at the frontage of the building, he gave a low whistle.

"I bet these places cost an arm and a leg, with both your ears thrown in as well!"

Heading to the trunk, Sam gave the building a cursory glance.

"Probably."

Dean looked at his brother in surprise.

"I would've thought you'd be into this kind of thing!"

Opening up the trunk, Sam turned to look at the building again.

"The people that live here now are here by choice. _I_ can't help thinking about all those who must've been stuck in here before, when it was still part of a huge asylum complex. What must it have been like to be stuck in here! I don't think _they_ will have cared how pretty the brick work was back then."

"Maybe not. Or maybe it wasn't as bad as we _think_ it must've been, living here. Maybe this was the luxury end of loony bin living."

"_Dean_!"

"Ok...sorry..._Asylum_ livin'."

...

Picking out the number for their client's apartment, Sam pressed the buzzer. A woman's voice soon answered.

"Can I help you?"

"Er, hi. Yeah. My name's Sam. I'm looking for Carla?"

"Sam! Hi, that's me. Come on up, I'm on the first floor."

The double doors silently opened, allowing Sam and Dean inside. The foyer was light and spacious, with a number of leather armchairs dotted around and standing on a gleaming oak floor. Large potted plants were used to soften to effect of the area and abstract paintings in muted colours were hung artfully on the walls. An engraved brass plaque on the back wall of the foyer gave the location of the various apartment numbers. There was one central elevator, and two sets of stone stairs, left and right of the foyer. A glass fronted bookcase held a selection of reading material and, in one corner and looking slightly out of place, was a hot drinks machine. Checking the brass plaque, the pair headed towards the left hand staircase.

...

The hunters found themselves stepping onto a long carpeted hallway, lined with huge multi pane windows on one side, and the numbered doors to the apartments on the other. Up ahead, one of the doors opened and a woman with short cropped grey hair looked down the corridor towards the brothers.

"Sam?"

Sam smiled and increased his pace, heading to where the woman waited. He held his hand out to her.

"You must be Carla? I'm Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean."

Dean gave the woman, who he guessed to be in her late fifties or early sixties, a nod of greeting.

"It's great that you're here, both of you. Please, come on in."

...

Internally the apartment appeared huge. In part that was due to the exceptionally high ceilings, and four lots of imposing windows hung with long, heavily textured curtaining in a mixture of a deep teal blue and dark hessian brown. The design of the apartment was very much in the classic open plan, multi purpose space style, with the exception of the separate bedrooms, bathroom and utility room. Carla's furnishing style appeared to lean towards the "shabby chique" and incorporated a deep blue overstuffed sofa and two armchairs. Cushions and multi-tonal throws made the suite look even more inviting. Her pieces of wooden furniture, including the large rough wood dining table and an antique bureau, all complemented each other, even though there was very much an eclectic mix of wood types and colours. Thick piled rugs of differing designs and patterns softened the polished wood flooring. Random pieces of driftwood and decorative bowls filled with shells and pebbles were dotted around the place. Carla's walls were hung with various pictures, all either limited edition prints, or original paintings, and in a mixture of styles and themes. Her decidedly _put it together_ _and see if it works_ attitude, immediately made the whole place feel relaxed and welcoming, with nothing to signify that there was anything sinister happening inside the apartment.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Bye again :D_


	10. Chapter 10

_A.N. Hello again...again __**:**__I_

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

**o-o-o**

Sitting on tall stools at the breakfast bar, coffee and cake in front of them, Dean and Sam began gathering more information about what had been happening within the apartment, and to Carla, in the short time she had been there.

"When I saw this place for sale, the price seemed too good to be true, and when the real estate lady showed me round, I asked about it. She just said that tenants hadn't been able to settle and that they'd all turned out to have very active imaginations. They all claimed that they couldn't get the place warm and that it just had a "bad feeling". One of them has since posted something on a social networking site about the apartment being haunted, odd noises, moans, that kinda thing. I had a go at bringing the price down further, and was stunned they accepted! I used to work here, so when I moved in, it was a bit like coming home. I actually did a placement in _this_ part, it was Ward 25 back then, men and women, and they'd all had been here for years. They still called the staff Sir and Miss, didn't matter_ how_ often I told them what my name was. The Charge Nurse back then was what you might call a character. Set in his ways, but he knew all the patients on the ward like the back of his hand. He'd been around years, started out as an Asylum Attendant, and still acted like one. He also had his eye on every young female student who came to the ward for a placement. Honestly seemed to think he was God's Gift. Me and my friend Dixi, who was on placement with me, joked about him not having looked in a mirror at himself for years."

Dean smiled.

"Did the creep try hitting on either of you?"

Carla laughed merrily.

"_God_ yes!...As soon as we first walked onto the ward! I let him know straight away that I had no time for his games, Dixi though, she played along. Thought it would get her a good report when the placement ended. She never let it get beyond the verbal though. And it _definitely_ made for an entertaining placement."

Sam broke in on Carla's reminiscing.

"Is the guy still alive?"

Carla looked serious.

"No. Lung cancer poor sod, he'd only been retired six months, never got the chance to enjoy it."

Sam nodded his understanding.

"Carla, can you tell us _why_ you think this place is haunted?"

At the question, Carla visibly became more nervous, fiddling with her mug and glancing around her apartment.

"Well, it started a week after I'd moved in. At first I just thought maybe there was some faulty wiring you know? Every now and then all the lights would start flickering on and off for no reason. I had everything checked, but the guy couldn't find anything wrong. Then my kitchen appliances started playing up. The dishwater would start on it's own, the oven switched off while I was roasting some meat. The radio would keep changing channels. I got the electrician back in and he looked at everything. He still couldn't find any faults though. Then there were a couple of times when I was sat watching TV in the evening, I thought I saw something move out of the corner of my eye."

Dean became more interested.

"Could you make out the shape? Was it a person?"

"I don't know, it was just a glimpse of a kind of dark shadow, moving past quickly. But when I looked properly, there was nothing. Since then, things have just got worse."

"Worse how?"

Carla took a deep breath, her gaze switching back and forth between the brothers.

"For about a week before I rang your dad's number someone, or something, has been coming into my bedroom at night and sitting on the edge of my bed. I can feel the bed dip as it sits down, and I can see the indentation on the bedding. I've tried asking it what it wants, I've pleaded with it, begged it to go away and leave me alone...I've been sleeping on the couch for the past three nights, I'm afraid to go into my bedroom, even during the day. I...I don't want to leave this place. Being here makes me feel closer to my husband. I want this thing getting rid of, and I'd been told your father could help. I didn't know that he...You know...That he wasn't around anymore."

Sam reached out and laid a hand over hers.

"It's ok. Dean and I, we do the same thing that our dad did. I promise we'll do everything we can to stop this."

He turned to Dean.

"So...What do you think?"

Dean shrugged.

"Sure sounds like a haunting. Carla, is it ok if I take a wander around? See if I can pick up any trace of this thing?"

"Of course but...how will you be able to do that?"

Climbing off his stool, Dean went to his kit bag and rummaged around inside it, eventually holding up a weird looking black box that looked like something from a kid's science project.

"With this...It'll go off if there's any energy trace been left by your visitor. It's like a metal detector for ghosts. Do you mind pointing me at your bedroom? I'll make a start in there."

...

Closing the door behind him, Dean stood looking around the good sized bedroom. The first thing he noticed was the lack of wardrobes. The only furniture in the room was a double bed set centrally against the main wall so that it's occupant, when sat up, was facing the windows. At either side of the bed stood a wooden bedside cabinet. Positioned to take in the view from the windows was a large, old fashioned, rocking chair. The only other piece of furniture, if you could call it that, was a large, rectangular antique pine chest. On top of it sat a collection of soft toy teddy bears. The bedding, cushions, curtains and rugs were all in shades of gold and red. The plain cream walls were adorned with various original pen and ink sketches of Japanese landscapes. They looked as if they formed a set. It was a pleasant and comfortable room, totally free of any over done frills and flounces.

"Ok, lets see if we can figure out where you're hiding."

Dean turned the EMF meter on, and slowly began to walk around the room.

...

Pouring another coffee for herself and Sam, Carla couldn't stop herself from repeatedly glancing at the closed door to her bedroom.

"He will be alright it there, won't he?"

"He'll be just fine Carla. Come and sit down, tell me what this place looked like when it was still part of ward 25."

Carla's description was interrupted by the rising and falling sound of the EMF meter, and she gave a startled twitch.

"Is that normal?"

Sam also now glanced across to the bedroom door,

"It means that Dean's found something in there."

They both waited anxiously. The wailing of the EMF suddenly stopped and the door to the bedroom opened, revealing Dean stood just behind it. He grinned at the look on both Carla's and Sam's faces.

"I got a reading off the edge of the bed, something's definitely been paying you a visit Carla. There didn't seem to be anyth..._Ooof_!"

There was a hard shove in the middle of Dean's back, and he found himself having been determinedly pushed out of Carla's room. The bedroom door slammed shut behind him.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Erm...Bye...Again!_


	11. Chapter 11

_A.N. Now, where was I? Oh, right..._

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**o-o-o**

_"Sonova..."_

Carla stared at Dean, eyes wide and both hands held over her mouth. Sam was already off his stool and heading towards his brother.

"Are you ok?"

Dean waved Sam away.

"I'm good Sam, stop panicking will you?...Carla, it's ok. _Really_...I'm fine."

Dean turned back to the bedroom door and tried to open it, it wouldn't budge. Annoyed, he shouted through the door.

_"I wouldn't get too comfy in there pal. I'm gonna __**evict**__ your ghosty ass. You hear me? Your time is __**up**__!"_

Turning away from door, Dean had only taken a couple of steps, when Carla screamed and, at the same time, Sam yelled.

"_Dean_! **_Down_**!"

Reflexes kicked in, and Dean threw himself to the floor, immediately rolling onto his back. He felt the air movement when the heavy old rocking chair sailed harmlessly over where he lay. Sam dived to one side, as the chair passed uncomfortably close to where his head had been just that fraction of a second earlier. Crashing to the floor, one of the chairs rockers snapped off and skidded away over the polished wood. Raising his head, Dean looked toward the bedroom. The door now stood, wide open.

...

Infuriated, Dean shoved his hand in his jeans pocket and grabbed the EMF monitor again before scrambling to his feet. Turning, he saw Sam was already by Carla's side, trying to comfort the trembling woman.

"Sam...Get Carla out of here. I'll follow you down in ten."

With a quick nod, Sam put an arm around Carla's shoulders.

"Time to go Mrs Donaghue, we need get you somewhere safe."

Carla nodded and began to allow Sam to lead her toward her front door. She stalled briefly.

"I...What about my things? I...Shouldn't I pack?"

"Don't worry, lets just get you out of here."

"My purse...I need my purse at least! And a coat...I think."

Sam glanced around.

"Where's your purse?"

"Sam?...Catch."

Sam gave Dean a small smile of thanks as he caught the purse Dean had thrown. Dean watched whilst Sam guided Carla out of the apartment, closing the door behind them. Turning the EMF monitor on, Dean glared at the open doorway to Carla's bedroom.

"Ok pal. Ready or not, here I come."

...

Ten minutes later, with Carla sat safely in the back of the Impala clutching at her purse, Sam stood leaning up against the car anxiously watching the main entrance to the apartment block, waiting for Dean to appear.

...

Sam checked his watch, twenty minutes gone.

"Come on Dean for Chrissake."

A knock on the Impala's rear window made Sam turn. Opening the door, he looked down at Carla with concern.

"You ok in there?"

"Yes, I just...Shouldn't your brother have come down by now? He said he'd be ten minutes. Do you think...?"

"I'm certain he's fine Carla, trust me, he knows what he's doing. Look, if it makes you feel better, we'll give him another ten minutes and, if he's not down by then, I'll go up and get him. Ok?"

"Ok. I'm sorry Sam. I'm sure you know best."

Hiding his own worry from Carla, Sam turned back to watch the main entrance, in time to see Dean walk out through the double doors and start to jog over to the Impala. Straightening up from the car, he waited for Dean to get closer, an expression of irritation now on his face.

"What the Hell took you so long Dean? You've been _well_ over twenty minutes!"

Dean slowed to a walking pace, frowning slightly at Sam's tone.

"Sorry...Didn't know you'd got a stop-watch on me. I wanted to make sure I covered the whole place properly. That ok with you?"

Sam turned his head away, internally doing a slow count to ten before turning back again.

"Find anythin'?"

Opening the driver's door, Dean shook his head.

"Just residue. Seems our friend disappeared after his little paddy...Hi Carla, you ok back there?"

...

The journey back to the motel was mostly silent, leaving Carla pondering the relationship between these two brothers. Training and instinct told her that there was an uneasiness in their interactions, almost as if they tolerated each other, but nothing more than that. She wondered if this was _always_ how things were, or whether the recent death of their father was influential in the atmosphere between them? Glancing in the rear view mirror, Dean caught Carla staring at Sam and himself, a thoughtful expression on her face. He quickly looked away again, before she realised that he was watching her, watching them.

...

Parked up back at the motel, Sam was first out of the car, moving quickly to hold the rear door open for Carla. As she climbed out, she gazed uncertainly at the motel exterior.

"Are you sure it's alright for me to stay here?"

With a smile, Sam offered her his arm. Carla raised her eyebrows at his gesture.

"Old fart I might be compared to you two, but I'm _not_ so old I can't walk unaided! I still ride a bike you know. I regularly go hill walking, and I even work out at the gym in my apartment complex. Not _all_ of us crumble as soon as we hit our fifties. I _still_ don't know how to knit, and I've no intention of learning! Ok?..._Kid_!"

Dean chuckled as Sam raised his hands in surrender.

"Ok! My bad. You don't happen to have a younger brother called Bobby do you?"

"No. Why? Who's Bobby?"

Dean looked back over his shoulder as he lead the way to their room.

"He's a very good friend of ours. I think he'd like you Carla."

Following Dean, Carla looked up at Sam.

"Is that a good thing?...Or not?"

"It's a _very_ good thing, honestly."

Unlocking the door to their room, Dean stepped back to let Carla in first.

"Here we are. It's basic compared to your place, but at least you've got your own bedroom and, you'll be safe here."

Behind Carla, Sam stalled momentarily at Dean's announcement that she had her own bedroom and he glanced at his brother. Dean responded with a shrug of _What else am I supposed_ _to do?_ before following Sam and Carla inside.

...

Once inside, Carla took a quick look around then, slinging her purse onto the couch, she swung into action. Heading for the dining table, she first picked up the tumbler and contents, staring at the grass and the now completely collapsed weed she said nothing, simply glancing from Dean to Sam, then continued clearing away that morning's breakfast plates. Soon the coffee machine was in full flow and she was humming as she washed dishes. Leaving her to it, Dean went to clear his things from the pink bedroom and put them in with Sam. Sat at the dining table, Sam sighed to himself when he saw Dean moving into the blue room. There would have to be a debate later about who was sleeping on the floor. Opening his laptop, he began searching for information about the Beechwood apartment complex.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Chapter 12 is ready if anyone wants to read it?_

_Chick __**;p**_


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**o-o-o**

Once all three were sat at the table with their coffee's, Carla looked expectantly at the brothers.

"So. What happens now?"

Dean grinned.

"Ah, well. Our little Sammy here, being the research king, he starts doing his thing. Ha! Poetry!"

Sam threw Dean a pained look.

"_Bad_ poetry, and it's _Sam_...Ok Carla. What we've got to figure out is just who our ghost is...Was. Here. I've found some old archive drawings showing the layout of your complex back when it was the Beechwood Unit. This one's for the ward where your apartment is sited now. Do you recognise it from when you worked there?"

Sam turned the laptop to Carla, who leaned forward and stared thoughtfully for a while at the line drawing on screen, linking that with her memory of how the place had been laid out in her day. Eventually she sat back.

...

"Well, according to the date in the corner, this drawing is from fifty one, but really it was still _pretty_ much the same. This room here, the Senior Attendant's office? That was Joseph's office, but it also doubled up as a staff meeting room, and our break room if we didn't go across to the staff dining room. The Doctor's office, here, wasn't used as an office anymore. That's where we stored the drugs trolley, syringes, gloves, catheters, wound dressings and such. That room was always kept locked. Oh, and by then, all the open fire places had been boarded up. The layout of the dorm was different too. Instead of this one huge old Nightingale dormitory, it had been divided up more."

Sam pulled his chair around next to Carla's.

"Can you remember how it had been divided?"

"Well, for a start, we had the male dorm and the female dorm. The men's was slightly bigger than the women's, so there was a wall put in roughly here. On the women's side there were two bays with four beds and four single rooms."

Dean got up from the table and went to the sitting area, returning with a pen and a sheet of paper with the motel fire instructions on one side. Turning the paper onto it's blank side he handed it and the pen to Carla.

"Can you do us a rough sketch of how it was laid out when you were there?"

"Sure."

...

Standing behind Carla and Sam, Dean glanced between Carla's sketch and the on screen plans. Hovering his finger over the screen, he traced a rectangle.

"What do you think, _Sam_? This about right for where Carla's apartment is now?"

Dean noticed the slight stiffening of Sam's shoulders at Dean's inflection on his name before he answered.

"Something like that. Carla, do you mind?"

Carla shoved her sketch and the pen over to Sam and leaned in closer to him, watching curiously.

"You're trying to figure out which area of the ward is now my apartment, aren't you? Funny...I've never considered that before."

...

Carla stared at her sketch, now overlaid in one area with dashed lines, representing her home.

"The men's dorm, well."

Dean gazed at what came within the area now occupied by the apartment.

"So, we've got two single rooms and an eight bed bay; with the other men's eight bed area falling into the boundary of the apartment next to yours Don't suppose you can remember the names of the patients who slept in the bed areas covered by _your_ place?"

Carla frowned.

"I'll do my best, but it _was_ 1979 don't forget! Alright, lets see."

Sam and Dean waited quietly whilst Carla stared at her sketch, occasionally closing her eyes as she tried to conjure up an image of who slept where during the eight weeks she worked on the ward. Now and then she would nod or shake her head, answering her own internal dialogue. She began to scribble a few names here and there on the map, two with question marks at the side of them. Two of the beds areas in the bay were left blank. She moved her pen, hovering it over the two individual rooms. Carla's sudden gasp as she jerked back in her chair, surprised both the hunters.

Dropping the pen, Carla clamped a hand over her mouth and stared at the outline of the single rooms, her eyes wide. Sam immediately placed a reassuring arm around her shoulders.

"Carla? What is it? What have you remembered?"

Carla shook her head, and began laughing.

...

"Inadequate Psychopath!"

Dean looked at Carla in confusion.

"Come again?"

"Sorry...It's a term we used back then. The guy who had this room? He'd been diagnosed Inadequate Psychopath. I always joked it meant he was rubbish at _being_ a Psychopath! I remember him _very_ well. Tony Lawrence, in his early thirties. My first morning on the ward, Joseph told me to go wake him up. Course, there were a couple of bits of information he _forgot _to give me beforehand!"

"Such as?"

"Such as what the guy wore in bed, and what he'd be likely to be doing!"

Dean's curiosity cells were immediately activated.

"Go on, I'll bite, what did he wear?"

Carla glanced at Sam and Dean, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Just one item of clothing. A pair of women's tights."

Dean instantly erupted into laughter, whilst Sam simply stared at Carla in disbelief.

"You _are_ kidding...Aren't you?"

Grinning, Carla shook her head.

"Nope. They couldn't be _any_ old pair of tights mind you, only one kind was good enough for Tony. They _had _to be American Tan colour."

Dean started laughing even harder at that, whereas Sam just looked confused.

"American Tan?"

"It was a very specific colour that was all the rage in the sixties. Think of a fake tan that's turned horribly orange. The other attractive quality they had is that, for tights, they were quite thick, and you could get ones that didn't ladder. Instead you just got bloody huge holes in them, or dozens of pulled threads. Really...They were vile! _And,_ I'm ashamed to say that I wore them all the time, when I was young and clueless anyway."

"So this Tony guy just wore tights to bed? I don't think I need ask what he was up to when you went into his room...I'm assuming it was a single handed exercise?"

Carla nodded at Sam.

"You got it."

Dean, by now, was laughing so much, he was struggling to breathe. Sam, however, was appalled.

"And the ward manager just sent you in there, on your own, without any warning?"

"Yup. He saw it as some kind of test. If you didn't scream and come running out of the room in tears, he'd decide you were ok and he'd get along with you."

"What happened if you _were_ upset and frightened?"

"Then he'd spend the next eight weeks treating you like you were the worst student ever to walk onto his ward and nothing you did would be right. I'd heard that a couple of girls in the group ahead of us had such a bad time, they quit their training altogether."

By this point, Dean's initial laughter had subsided.

"What a douche bag!"

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	13. Chapter 13

A.N. The mid-week chapter (it's becoming quite a tradition). I'm very slightly ahead of you guys, and what happens is that everybody suddenly ... ;p

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**o-o-o**

Sam had opened a blank Word document. At the top of the page he typed **Potential Names.** The first name heading up his list was **Joseph Wood - Charge Nurse** - **Douche bag.**

"Ok. Tell us what Tights Wearing Tony was like."

Carla grimaced, as if she had just swallowed something vile.

"He was a man you didn't turn your back on too often. I once saw him throw a full size H2O fire extinguisher at the back of the Senior Staff Nurse's head. Fortunately it fell short. It could easily have killed the guy if it had hit him. Afterwards, Tony said he'd done it 'cos he was bored. Some days he would just follow me around for the whole of the shift, always staying a couple of yards behind me. I'd ask him to stop, but he never answered. He'd wait for you to turn your back, and he'd start following you around again. His other nasty little habit was to get close, and try to stroke your arm. It always made me cringe if he got me."

Sam added **Tony Lawrence - Patient - Tights Wearing Tony **to his list. Dean nodded at Carla's list.

"Anything in particular stand out amongst those other guys?"

Carla stared at the names she had written, putting her finger under one of the names she had identified as sleeping in the eight bed bay.

"This one...Throughout the whole hospital, there were some patients that _all_ the staff knew. The infamous one's. _This_ guy was one of those."

...

Dean looked at the name.

"Simon Sharrott?"

"Simple Simon everyone called him, when he wasn't within earshot."

"What was his deal?"

"You mean other than being a foul mouthed nasty son of a bitch? When he was nineteen he went to prison. After ten years, he was tagged as Criminally Insane. Five years later his sentence ended, and he was involuntarily transferred to Lockwood. The Courts slapped an order on him that meant he had to stay there till he was fit to join society, if ever that day came! He was moved to Lockwood so he was nearer his only living relative; some Uncle or other who never visited. Simon had been there ever since. When I was on the ward he was in his early fifties, though you wouldn't have thought it to look at him. He thought he was a tough guy, and he _did_ scare most of the other patients as well as quite a few staff. Course, there were _some_ staff, usually those who were the left overs from the old asylum attendant days, who were way tougher than him. He sucked up to those staff 'cos he was frightened of them. Joseph and his deputy, George, were two of the people that he was afraid of. That's actually why he was on ward 25, they knew how to keep him under control."

"What did he do to get thrown in prison?"

"Not certain, but I _think _he'd tried to rape his neighbour's kids, a boy age 11 and a girl age 8, while he was babysitting. I think the kid's dad coming home saved the pair."

Dean glanced at Sam, who nodded. **Simon Sharrott - Patient - Paedophile.**

After more information provided by Carla, Sam also added the name of a further patient, **Clive Furness**. In all the time that Clive had been incarcerated, he hadn't spoken a word, although his records stated that he was actually physically capable of speech. Admitted involuntary at fourteen years old, by 1979 Clive was 78 and still diagnosed only with Mutism. No other diagnosis was known and there was no other reason recorded as to why he ended up there.

...

Carla gazed at the list of names.

"Do you think it's one of these that's haunting my apartment then?"

Sam shrugged.

"It gives us a start point. If nothing comes of these names, we start to widen the net. We're working on the theory that it's someone connected to Ward 25 in some way. We know it's not about you personally because of the previous rapid turnover of tenants. None of them stayed long because they probably experianced weird stuff happening."

Picking his coffee up, Dean grimaced when he realised it had gone cold. Carla immediately took the mug and moved to pour him a fresh coffee.

"Thanks...Was there ever mention of the ward being haunted in your day?"

"No...All _those_ kinds of stories tended to revolve around the geriatric wards...I know, old fashioned name...I would guess 'cos they, obviously, had the highest death rates. Sam? Fresh coffee?"

Carla continued speaking as she poured herself and Sam another drink.

"So...What's the next move?"

Sam commandeered the laptop again.

"Now we try to find out who's still alive. We know Joseph's dead, so he stays as a potential. It's a fair bet that Clive is also dead; which leaves Tony and Simon. I'm assuming the hospital kept a record of deaths that occurred within the hospital and it's grounds?"

"Yes. We_ had_ to, and every patient that died, right up to the early eighties, had an autopsy carried out to find out cause of death. Did you know the place had it's own morgue?"

Sam looked up with renewed interest.

"Really?"

"Until 1983, yes. The _really_ sad bit? A lot of the patients who died there had no known family, certainly none that came forward. When that happened, they were buried there, on site, in unmarked graves."

"What? In the old hospital grounds?"

"Yup...1,447 bodies."

Dean groaned.

"_Please_...Carla!Tell us you're kiddin'!"

"Nope. I'm totally serious. There are 1,447 men, women _and_ children buried around here. A lot of them in one mass grave near the morgue and, obviously, some were buried around the old hospital church, but _none_ of them had any marker over their grave."

_"Shit!"_

_..._

Both Sam and Dean stared at Carla, dumbstruck. Carla innocently looked from one to the other.

"I'm taking a wild guess here, does that create some kind of problem?"

Dean crossed his forearms flat on the table and laid his forehead on them, leaving Sam to do the explaining.

"It kinda depends."

"On?"

"On whether our ghost was a patient or not. And, if it was a patient, did they die in the hospital? And, if they died in the hospital, did someone step forward to claim the body? Or...Did the body become one of the 1,447?"

"Why does it matter so much?"

"Well...Once we know who the ghost is, we would normally find out where he or she was buried, pop along, dig them up, then salt and burn the remains, which then gets rid of the ghost."

A muffled sound which came over as being something across between a moan and a whimper drifted up from where Dean still had his head lowered onto his arms. Carla looked across at the top of the older hunter's head.

"Oh dear."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Anyway, as I was saying...Just after all that happens, there's this huge... :D  
__No, really, all I'm saying is, **sorry**. Before you get to it...**I'm sorry**. So, now I've __apologised in advance, you can't hold it against me when you get to it, can you? :)  
__Chick xxxx_


	14. Chapter 14

_A.N. Coo, you lot are harsh! And I thought I'd apologised ever so nicely! ;p_

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**o-o-o**

Having found nothing in the room's counter top fridge other than a six pack, Dean soon found himself being dragged on a shopping trip by Carla. Leaving Sam in peace to dig into the background of Lockwood and the unmarked graves. An hour later, Carla walked back into the room followed by a harassed looking Dean.

"Dean Winchester, you should eat more healthily. Lemon pie is _not_ healthy, _and..._At what point exactly were M&M's re-designated a food item? You are going eat proper food today, and that's _final_! It's the least I can do."

"Sam! _Tell_ her!"

"Sam...Stay out of this. Dean, go help your brother. Lunch will be ready in around thirty minutes."

Ignoring the sulky look on Dean's face, Carla happily headed into the kitchenette. Dean plonked himself down next to Sam, scowling at the look of amusement on his younger brother's face.

"Did the pair of you have fun?"

"I swear, the woman _has_ to be a witch...Or a demon! We should test her...Find anything useful whilst I was being towed around a store by the she devil?"

Sam nodded.

"Well, I can tell you that the paper chase on Tights Wearing Tony showed he's no longer with us. He was still a patient at Lockwood when they were being shipped out to community based accommodation. He moved from Ward 25 to a transition unit within Lockwood. After six months, he was put with two other ex-patients into community housing. Looks like he hit the booze as soon as he started getting his state benefit. Died of a head injury in 1997. Apparently he got into an argument outside a bar. Coroner told the Court that the other guy hit Tony once, and Tony managed to crack the back of his skull open as he hit the floor."

"One hit? And he died?"

"Like I said, it was actually how his head hit the _floor_ that killed him."

"So, he stays on the list?...What about Simple Simon?"

"He was never released. They transferred _him_ to a secure hospital. He died one lunch time when a new guy with Paranoid Schizophrenia stabbed Simon through the eye with his spoon handle."

"_Gross!..._And old Clive?"

"Died on Ward 25 of pneumonia age 81, still never having spoken a word."

"Poor bastard! So we can't wipe any _one_ of this lot off the list of potentials. I know I'm goin' to regret this, but, do we know what happened to the bodies?"

...

"You two? Enough of all that. And Dean...No swearing! Go wash your hands..._Now_!"

At the sudden interruption from Carla, Dean and Sam looked at one another.

"I _said_...**_Now_**!"

Dean frowned.

"You feelin' ok Carla?"

Carla stopped slicing the salad tomatoes long enough to give Dean a curious look, then return to her task.

"Why're you asking me that Dean? Do you think there's something wrong with me? Hmm? Because _really_, I don't see how it's any of your _Goddamn business_."

Sam stood up, and signalled to Dean to let him deal with this.

"Come on Dean. Carla told us to go wash our hands."

"Oh...Yeah."

Carla added the tomatoes into the bowl of salad, at the same time giving Sam a smile.

"Thank you Sam."

Sam gave Dean a nod of his head in the direction of the bathroom, whilst he himself put both hands in his jeans pockets and casually strolled across to Carla. Dean took his time about getting up from the table, carefully taking his jacket off and hanging it on the back of his chair, then searching for something in the pockets; all the while surreptitiously glancing towards Sam.

Sam looked at the salad and smiled.

"That looks _great_ Carla. Say...Why don't you let me give you a hand? You've had a _He_...ck of a morning, I'm guessing you must be tired?"

"Why? Why must I?"

"Well...It's just...You seem to be kinda on edge and, well, you _were_ a little sharp with Dean..."

Carla nodded slowly.

"A little sharp?...Yes, I suppose so...Sort of like this knife..."

Carla's movements were a blur, and Dean watched in horror as Sam sank to the floor on one knee.

...

Automatically hurrying towards Sam, Dean found himself facing Carla as she quickly stepped forward, blocking Sam from Dean's view. Bringing the knife up, she stood ready to strike at Dean.

"You didn't wash your hands. You _really_ shouldn't defy me son, you _will_ learn sweet lips."

"Get away from my brother!"

Carla's eye's burned with fury.

"**_Don't_**_ answer me back, boy. __**Ever**_!"

Dean found himself having to keep moving backwards out of the way as Carla ran at him, slashing the knife through the air, trying to reach him. There was movement and a groan from behind her, and suddenly it was raining salad down on her as Sam threw the contents of the salad bowl over Carla's head. Carla swung around.

"_How..__**Dare**__..You_!"

Dean didn't hesitate, he threw himself onto Carla's back, dragging her down to the floor on top of him, grabbing both her arms and pinning them against her side whilst she writhed and struggled against his restraining hold. With supreme effort on his part, Sam closed in on her and pulled back his fist.

...

Dean lay on his back panting for air, underneath the unconscious Carla. Gracefully, both Sam's knees now gave way and he dropped, finding himself sat on the floor. Shoving Carla's limp body off himself, Dean crawled on hands and knees to Sam's side, desperate to know the location of his younger brother's injury. It wasn't hard to spot. Sam was holding his arm across the area, just under his ribs on his left side, and Dean could see the edges of the red staining to Sam's tee. Lifting his head, Sam briefly met Dean's worried gaze.

"M'ok. Tie her up or summin', 'case she wakes."

"I will, gotta check you first."

Sam shook his head.

"Not goin' anywhere. Not sure how hard I hit her. See to Carla."

Reluctantly, Dean nodded.

"Ok."

...

Being as thoughtful as he was able, Dean soon had Carla cuffed and tied down on the room's only armchair which he hurriedly surrounded by a circle of salt whilst Carla was still out cold. That done, he swiftly turned his attention back to Sam who was now laid on the floor, still clutching at his wound. Grabbing their med kit, a towel and a cushion, he knelt down at his brother's side.

"Here...Lift your head."

Dean popped the cushion under Sam's head, then focused on the wound.

"Ok Sammy. You know the drill, let me see what we've got here."

...

Dean was relieved to see that there was one clean puncture wound, the knife had been shoved in, and pulled out again without pause. There was no tearing, no slicing. What mattered now was how deep had the knife gone and what, if anything, had it hit?

"Dean? Dean...What's...happening? Dean, Sam...Please, I'm scared...Why am I tied up?...**_DEAN! Don't _**_you ignore me you __**ignorant punk **__piece of __**shit**__. How __**dare **__you?_"

"Did you just hear something Sammy?"

"N...No."

"Me neither...Ok little brother, I'm gonna clean the area first. You ready?"

"No...But you better do it anyway."

The Holy water wash out hit, and Sam cried out as his hand squeezed tightly around his brother's, crushing Dean's fingers. Dean said nothing, pouring another lot of water onto the wound, feeling the circulation to his fingers blocked off once more.

"_Phew_! Sounds like a whole lotta hurt goin' off. Do that to him again Deanie! I wanna see that _again_!"

Extracting his hand out of Sam's, Dean poured the remaining Holy water over his own hands, shaking the excess off.

"Alright baby brother, I need to see how deep this goes, check the damage, ok?"

Eyes closed, Sam shook his head.

"When is someone else poking their finger inside you _ever _ok?"

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"_Weeell_..."

Sam stared at his brother.

"_Really_!"

"Hey **_morons_**, get on with the show! Make that little brother **_screeamm _**Deanie, I'm _waaai-tinnn_'!"

"Scuse me a mo' Sammy."

...

"Right...Where were we? Oh, yeah...Poking..."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Whoops! :D_


	15. Chapter 15

_A.N. I agree, poor Sam! ;p_

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**o-o-o**

Half a dozen stitches and a clean gauze dressing pad later, Dean helped Sam back onto his feet and guided his brother to a dining chair. Heading to the sink, he returned with a glass of water and a couple of pain killers.

"Here you go, get these down you...You did good there Sam, really. Though I gotta admit, first time I've seen salad used as a weapon...Hah!..._Tossed salad_! I'm gonna have to try that one myself some time! What d'you think? Would a cheese salad be _more_ effective, or less?"

Sam grimaced and groaned. There was a brief moment of consideration by Dean.

"_That_ groan was nothing to do with being in pain, was it?"

Sam grinned and shook his head.

...

Carla slowly lifted her head, and found herself looking into the eyes of Dean Winchester. Dean was sitting the wrong way around on a dining chair that he had positioned in front her, his arms crossed along the back of the chair. She glanced back down to the floor, at the line of salt still encircling the armchair which held her. Looking back up at Dean, she smiled.

"Well...I _was_ goin' to pretend I'd _left_ the silly cow, but I guess you'd know I can't go anywhere else. Where'd you learn the salt trick boy? Got a manual have you?"

The twitch to Dean's shoulders was so minute, normal human eyes would have missed it.

"_Goddamn_! You _have_! Haven't you?"

"What's your name?"

The slow, malicious smile that spread across Carla's face was an expression Dean couldn't imagine Carla herself ever owning.

"Rumplestiltskin."

Dean stared at Carla through narrowed eyes. Standing up, he turned his back on the possessed woman and walked away, heading for Sam's bedroom.

...

Sam was dozing on the bed, but he woke instantly when Dean entered the room and closed the door behind himself.

"How you doin' in here?"

"Pain pills starting working. How's going outside?"

"Let me worry about our friend out there, you just close your eyes and go back to sleep little brother."

"Dean? I'm sorry...Sorry I let it get me."

"Don't recall you having much option."

"Should've moved quicker."

With a sigh, Dean sat himself down on the bed, his upper body turned towards his brother.

"Sam. It came from nowhere..."

"No. We _knew_ something was off."

"Agreed, but even so...Christ Sam...I damn near had heart failure when I saw you go down like that, without a sound...I didn't know..."

"I'm ok Dean."

"I know, it's just, when I saw...When I thought...All I wanted, was to go with you."

Realising what Dean was trying to say, Sam looked up at his brother in shock.

"_Dean_!"

"Sammy, don't. I know how it sounds but, in that moment all I could see is I've already lost dad, now it looked like I was going to lose you as well. I couldn't...I didn't want to be left behind, you know? Dad's gone. You're all I've got now. I won't lose you Sammy, I _won't_!"

Sam determinedly pushed himself up until he was sat with his back against the headboard. Grabbing Dean's arm, he tugged until Dean moved closer, and he was able to wrap both arms around his older brother and pull him into a hug. For once, Dean didn't resist, resting his head against Sam's shoulder.

"Sometimes I feel so lost Sam...Suddenly, it's like it's all down to me, an' I don't know if I can carry that, don't know if I can do it. I'm not _him_ Sammy...I'm not dad."

Sam kept his grip on his distressed brother.

"No. You're not. But you know everything he knew, he made sure he gave you that. You _aren't _dad Dean. You're even _better_ than he was. And you're wrong...It's _not_ all down to you...It's down to _us_. You an' me. Batman and Robin. The Winchester brothers."

"Sam?"

"What?"

"Did you just compare us to Batman and Robin?"

"Er...Yeah...I think I did."

"That's cool, just...We don't have to dress like them, do we?"

"Jerk"

"Bitch... Thanks Sammy ...,...,...,... Sam?"

"What?"

"Could you let go of me now?"

...

Feeling as close to his brother as he ever had, and with the knowledge that Sam intended to continue hunting by his side, Dean felt a renewed sense of purpose and determination. He stood and crossed over to the bedroom door, he was more than ready to take on "Rumplestiltskin."

"Dean!...I got your back."

Dean grinned at Sam.

"I know that Sammy...Just might take you a while to hobble on over eh?"

...

"_Deanie_! You two been gettin' cosy in there? Can't say I blame you, that's one good lookin' brother you got!"

Dean glared at Carla, trying to see beyond the physical, to the monster residing within her.

"So...What _are_ you? Male? Female? Hermaphrodite?"

"Which would you prefer me to be, sweet lips?"

"Personally? I think you're nothin' but a snivelling little dickless weasel. Actually, that's what I'll call you, _Snivels_! So Snivels, how come you're hanging around the apartments? Nobody give enough of a shit about you to bother collecting your noxious little soul? Were you really _that_ forgettable? I'm guessin' you _must've_ been, 'cos here you are! Stuck in a nowhere motel room, tied to a dinky little armchair, surrounded by salt. What do you think to the big wide world now? Oh...Hang on...Don't bother to answer that, 'cos I don't actually _give_ a rat'_s_ about what you think!"

Turning away, Dean whistled to himself cheerily as he headed over to the coffee maker. Completely ignoring Carla, he began taking the machine apart and cleaning it down. Carla's eyes never left Dean's back, watching his every move. Dean began to pour a fresh batch of ground coffee into the machine.

"_Hey_! Punk!"

With his back still turned towards the possessed woman, Dean smiled to himself. He'd been banking on Carla's occupant not liking to be ignored. Instead of responding, he moved to grab two clean mugs.

"_Look_ at me when I'm talking to you, pretty boy!"

Dean finally turned around, his expression amused.

"Way I see it, you're not talking yet. You're just making useless noise. When you _do_ wanna talk, let me know. Till then? I'll be having coffee with my brother."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Well, __**I**__ know who it is, how about you?  
__Chick xxx_


	16. Chapter 16

_A.N. Last chapter of the weekend, gotta go earn a pittance tomorrow :(_

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**o-o-o**

Dean managed to get a couple of feet from Sam's bedroom door when their captive gave in.

"_Male..._I'm male. Satisfied? Are you a happy little boy now?"

Dean halted. Turning away from the door to Sam's room, Dean strolled casually back, coming to a stand still just outside the circle of salt.

"It'll do for starters. Were you a patient at Lockwood?"

"_Oh_ no. You're not playing fair Deanie. I've told _you _somethin' so now it's my turn to ask _you_ a question, like...What's with this instruction manual you didn't mean for me to know about? Where'd somethin' like that come from?"

Dean stared coldly at the thing that stared at him through Carla's eyes.

"First, that's two questions, and second...Let's get one thing straight right now, douche bag. You can cut the Hannibal act, I'm not going to be answering a single damn question from you_. Got that_? Only thing _you_ need to know is this...Right now you're sat at the front of the queue on ghostie death row. Whether you answer my questions or not, I promise you this...I'm gonna kick your irritating ass all the way downstairs, where you probably should've gone the day you did everybody a favour and stopped breathin'. Comprendé? No _way_ you get to stay top side. _Have I made myself clear_?"

"This guy Hannibal, ex boyfriend? I bet _that_ got your brother jealous, right? An' Deanie, I gotta say, I'm likin' it when you get all masterful! _Really_! I'm tingling all over...Now, how about _you_ listen to _me_ pretty boy? I ain't answering nothin'! Why should I if there's nothin' in it for me? I also think you're forgettin' somethin' green eyes. This old cow of a nurse I'm sittin' in? I remember this bitch, an' you better believe I got _no_ problem causin' her a little..._heart ache_...If you get my drift? So if you're gonna send me downstairs...You go _right_ ahead sweet cheeks, _do it!._ ...,... Well? ...,... Still waiting here!"

...

Dean held his ground, maintaining his steady gaze into Carla's eyes, needing to keep the ghost within convinced Dean could get rid of it any time he pleased, needing to buy some time.

"Not till _I_ decide, shit face. Start boring me an' you're gone. Piss me off, an' you're gone. Do _anything_ to harm the woman, an' you're gone. This' your one shot at givin' me a reason to let you get out of her and fuck off back to the loonie bin. Are we clear?"

Carla's eyes narrowed in consideration, weighing up Dean's words. Dean was silent, his expression neutral. He needed the thing to play ball, needed a name, needed to know where the remains were. Finally, the thing answered.

"See, I'm not so sure...I'm thinkin,' is the pretty boy stallin'? Care to convince me you're not?"

Dean immediately directed the thing's attention to the circle of salt. He had to end this game, stop the thing from going all out to call his bluff, move on to getting the answers he needed.

"You think maybe that was a lucky guess? I didn't _need_ to look it up in some manual. I'm a Hunter, so's my brother. _Don't_ test me, you _will_ regret it...You say you knew the woman? So you _were_ a patient at Lockwood."

"I was _dumped_. I _wasn't_ insane. I just got too old. _It's not **fair**_!...I did _everythin'_ **_right_**! I never told anyone, I kept my mouth shut, _just like he told me too_!"

"That's more like it...But I want your name before I get the sob story, hear me? Your _name!_"

"And why would I tell you that?"

"I'm givin' you a chance here _moron!_ Don't blow it!"

Dean waited, mentally willing the thing to tell him what he needed.

"_Clive_...They called me Clive."

Dean bowed his head briefly, when he looked up again, he was grinning.

"_Yahtzee_!"

...

Carla's voice was still cursing in fury as Dean closed the door to Sam's room behind him. Although it helped with the volume, the door being shut did nothing to block the clarity of the possessed woman's words and the threats directed at Dean. Sam was sat on the edge of his bed, obviously planning on getting up. Dean strode quickly across to him.

"Hey you. What do think you're doing?"

"What's it look like? I'm feeling ok, those pills are keeping things down to bearable. I was coming to see how you were doing. Sounds like you've made a new friend. What's happening?"

"Oh, that's just Clive, getting his frillies all twisted."

"Clive?"

"Yup...If you wanna tell me how smart I am, go right ahead little brother."

"Ok, you're a smart ass. It's just...I thought Clive didn't speak?"

"S'right, he didn't. Not he _couldn't,_ remember? He simply didn't. Seems he's making up for it now though. You'd think he'd want to do more than just yell about what he'd like to do to me, wouldn't you?...Ah...Silence...At _last_...Maybe he's run out of ideas!"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Idiot."

"Hang on, _no fair_, you just said I was smart!"

"Smart _ass_...There's a difference. Come on, I've got some work to be getting on with now we know who we're dealing with, and _you_ need to start supplying me with coffee."

...

As soon as the brothers came out of the bedroom, the berating, threats and curses began again. Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam.

"Told you...Making up for all those years of silence. Think we need an off switch, any bright ideas?"

"Spell maybe?"

"Do you know one?"

"No, I'd have to research."

"I was hoping for something more immediate?"

"We could gag him, just means one of us has to cross the salt line. He's tied up right?"

"Yeah, but..."

"It's doable. I nip in and gag Carla, you stand by with the salt. If it tries _anything_, salt the son of a bitch. Ok?"

Dean stared at Carla, as she glared at both hunters, in silence. He walked over to her.

"You gonna stay quiet now asshat?"

Carla seemed to consider the question, then gave Dean a twisted smile.

"No."

Whilst at least no longer yelling and screeching, the thing settled instead for a constant stream of offence and insults. When it began twisting the brother's relationship and describing in technicolor detail what it imagined them doing together, Dean decided he'd had enough.

"Ok...Let's do it."

...

A basic error of judgement, a screw up, one which the brothers themselves would have thought only a rank novice could be capable of. One that John Winchester would've chewed their asses about for months, and with bloody good reason. A mistake that, put simply, should not have happened; one _huge_ faux pas. Those Winchester boys? Surely _they_ wouldn't have let something like that happen? Ask any Hunter, they would laugh, then tell you that the Winchester brothers would_ never_ be that dumb...And yet...

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Now __**that's**__ a cliffie!_ **;p**

Chick xxx


	17. Chapter 17

_A.N. The Wednesday update & the answer to the chap 16 cliffie :)_

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**o-o-o**

In her possessed state, Carla glared as the brothers approached her. She glanced at the canister of salt in Dean's hand, her lips curled into a snarl.

"What the fuck you think you're goin' to do with _that_ boy? _Answer_ me, you shit eating little **_punk_**...Cat got your tongue? _Or is it still wrapped round your daddy's_ _di..."_

"**_Enough! _**Sammy, _do it_, gag the bastard!"

"With pleasure."

Without hesitation, Sam strode over the salt line and towards Carla, gag at the ready. It was as far as he got.

...

Completely taken off guard, Dean could only watch, stunned, as an invisible force lifted Sam up, and hurled him through the air to crash face down onto the dining table, landing with such force that the table collapsed under him. Sam's cry of pain as he hit the table was cut short when he slammed to the floor, laying still amongst the debris. Quickly flipping the lid of the salt canister, Dean turned his head back to Carla, as the armchair she had been tied in rammed into him, knocking his legs back from under him. Dropping the salt canister, Dean toppled face first into the chair in a tangle of limbs whilst the chair kept travelling; scraping through and breaking the circle of salt. A hand on Dean's collar yanked him back off the chair and spun him around, in time for the punch to connect with his windpipe before the hand released him. Dean dropped to his hands and knees, desperately gasping and wheezing, but only managing to draw pitiful panting puffs of air past his tender windpipe and down into his lungs. His head began to pound and Dean began to feel dizzy at the limited amounts of much needed air he was able to suck in. Still fighting to breathe, he was only vaguely aware of Carla, collapsing to the floor nearby.

...

His arms giving way, Dean laid on the floor on his side, closing his eyes he turned his focus to slowing down his rate of breathing, trying to take back some control, forcing himself to breathe in for longer, hold it, breathe out, repeat. _C'mon, pull it back, gotta get to Sammy._

"D...Dean? Dean?"

Dean opened his eyes at the sound of Carla's quiet, distressed, voice.

"M'ok...M'ok."

After struggling to sit up, Carla then shuffled herself across the floor and next to where Dean lay, waiting whilst he rolled onto his back and, slowly, sat upright. Each time he breathed in, there was an odd, soft, whistling sound accompanying it. Carla looked pale and tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Dean...That thing! It...It...I couldn't do anything, I couldn't, it was, I was...I'm gonna be sick..."

With nothing to hand, Carla turned her body away from Dean, and threw up onto the floor. She remained turned away from Dean until she was sure she had finished. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she carefully sat back, too embarrassed to meet Dean's sympathetic gaze.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Awkwardly Dean put a hand on the shaking woman's shoulder.

"Carla, I need you to do something for me, ok? I just need you to reach over and pick up a handful of salt. Can you do that?"

Carla looked confused, but nodded.

"Sure ... Here."

Dean smiled as she held out the salt she had scooped up from the floor, thinking Dean wanted it. He took hold of the woman's hand and turned it over, spilling the salt back to the floor.

"I just needed to know that you're ok now. You take your time, sit there. I have to check on Sam, ok?"

At that, Carla opened her eyes wide with horror.

"Oh...Dean! What...What have I done? Oh, please! Please forgive me, I..."

Dean began to climb to his feet.

"Carla, stop it! It's not your fault. Just...Stay there a minute while I see to Sammy, will you?"

Leaving the distraught woman sobbing anew, Dean hurried across to where his brother laid motionless. _Please be ok little brother, please, you gotta be ok_.

..

Sam's stillness terrified Dean, so much so that when Dean tentatively stretched his hand out towards his brother, he nervously pulled away again before actually touching Sam. Dean closed his eyes; touching his brother meant that, if Sam was dead, Dean would know, wouldn't be able to deny it. If he _didn't_ touch Sam, he wouldn't find out that he was dead, and so Dean could carry on telling himself that Sam was still alive. Dean so wanted _not_ to know for sure either way, just in case the worst _had_ actually happened. Despite what he wanted though, Dean also knew what was expected, and so he reached out again, this time laying his palm flat to his brothers back, resting it there lightly, praying and waiting to feel the rise and fall that would shout _He's alive_.

...

There! Dean felt it; the slight rise and fall that told him Sam _was_ breathing, that his brother _was_ still alive, and Dean could have cried out shamelessly in his relief. With practiced hands, Dean turned Sam onto his back, and grimaced when he saw the blood slowly seeping from the puncture wound which Dean had dealt with previously. Sam also now sported a dark purple bruise on one side of his forehead which reached down to his cheek bone, a bloody lip, and a deep looking cut across the bridge of his nose. Watching for a reaction, Dean ran his hands over Sam's tee, stopping to apply pressure now and then. Sam twitched and moaned the moment Dean pushed on the lower rib area on his right side. Checking further, Sam moved again when Dean came to check his right side hip area, telling Dean that this was the side Sam had hit the table with first. Another moan alerted Dean that his brother was drifting back to awareness. Stopping his body check, Dean shifted so that Sam would see him when Sam opened his eyes.

"There you go Sammy, come on bro', let me see those eyes."

...

Feeling like he had been hit by a truck, Sam fought to do as Dean asked, finally opening his eyes to see Dean hovering above him, worry written all over his face.

"D'n? Wha?"

Dean's expression morphed into a combination of guilt and distress.

"It's my fault Sam, I screwed up. I'm so sorry. I got angry, just wanted it shutting up."

Sam frowned.

"Don' understand..."

"I should've checked, made sure it was still tied up and secure. I'm so sorry Sam, you got hurt 'cos _I_ didn't do my job."

Reaching up, Sam gripped Dean's arm and grimaced.

"Help me sit up?"

"Your wounds bleeding again, and...I think you might have cracked a couple of ribs..."

Sam quickly jumped in before Dean could begin apologising again.

"Hurt less if you help me then?"

Still clearly upset, Dean nodded and re-positioned himself to better support Sam to sit up. As his brother shifted position, Sam spotted Carla rising to her feet.

"_Dean_...Look out!"

Carla heard Sam's warning and held her hands up, tears still tracking down her face.

"Sam..._No_ I...I'm ok..."

"She's fine Sam, I checked. I promise, she's clear."

Sam held an arms tightly against his damaged ribs whilst Dean helped him up. Sam gazed at the distraught woman.

"If she's clear, where's Clive?"

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Sam not having such a good time, sorry about that Sam fans :D  
__Chick xxxx_


	18. Chapter 18

_A.N. Oh sunny daaaaaaaay - tra la la :D_

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**o-o-o**

"Only one place he _can_ be, back at the apartment. Carla? Give me a hand here?"

Together Dean and Carla got Sam back onto his feet. Sam's hissed breaths told Dean how much it was hurting his younger brother to be moved. Dean nodded his head toward one of the dining chairs that was laid on it's side on the floor.

"Grab that Carla, he's gonna be better sat upright, it'll help his breathing."

Whilst Dean supported Sam, Sam followed Carla's movements. Dean noticed Sam's focus on the woman.

"Thoughts?"

With his eyes, Sam directed Dean's attention to Carla's purse, propped on the couch whilst wording his concern in such a way that he hoped he wouldn't alert Carla.

"Just thinkin' you're right about our friend. He couldn't stick around, there's nothing here he could latch onto..._Is_ there?"

...

Once again grabbing towel and med kit, Dean readied himself to fix Sam up as best he could, politely refusing the nurse's offer to take over.

"No, it's fine Carla, I got this."

Kneeling down in front of his brother, Dean winced and briefly looked away when he saw the full extent of Sam's bruising to his face. Sam could almost touch the cloak of self loathing that hung around Dean's shoulders.

"Carla? Do you mind going for ice? There's a jug in the kitchen you can take."

Carla nodded her understanding.

"Sure Sam. Good idea."

...

Sam waited for the door to close before quickly turning back to Dean, hoping to get in first. Dean beat him to it.

"I'm really sorry about..."

"Dean. _Stop_! I don't want to hear it!"

Misinterpreting Sam's meaning, Dean lowered his head.

"You're right."

"I am?"

"You were right when we were back at the garage."

"Dean...What're you talking about? You've lost me."

"You said it yourself Sammy..._I'm_ the one you need protecting from. I've finally figured out what Dad must've already known...The only way to keep you safe like he wanted me to? I have to make sure you're nowhere near _me_."

"_Dean_!"

"Wait Sam, just...All I'm sayin' is, when this job's over, if you wanna leave, I won't stand in your way. I won't try to stop you. In fact, I think you _should_ leave. Go get your life back. 'Cos if you hang around with me, I'm gonna get you killed...An' I couldn't live with that Sammy. I couldn't."

...

The cuff to the back of Dean's head was completely unexpected.

"_Ow_! The Hell?"

"_Idiot_! I _meant_ that I didn't want to hear you trying to blame yourself for _our_ mistake!"

"But...I should've checked the ropes..."

"Right. 'Cos that's _never_ been part of _my_ job too. You know? I bet somewhere in this motel, someone woke up in a bad mood this morning. Maybe you should go find them an' apologise, 'cos that _has_ to be your fault as well! Oh, and while you're at it, I hear it rained in Kansas for half a day last week, better have your apology put in the Kansas papers!"

"Sam, don't."

"Don't _what_ Dean? Oh, hang on, you already said, didn't you? _Don't stick around_...Dean, if you _really_ don't what me to be with you? Don't want me to work with you to hunt down the yellow eyed bastard that started all this? Then at least admit it. Don't try to twist dad's words, or use him as an excuse to get rid of me, he doesn't deserve that..._I_ don't deserve that. I _want_ to be here but, if I'm too much of a burden for you? Then just freakin' _say so_!"

"You done yet?"

"I dunno, depends...Have _you_?"

"I guess so."

"Good. 'Cos I'm _still_ bleeding, my ribs hurt, my head's pounding and, if it's ok by you, I'd _really_ appreciate more pain killers."

...

Carla watched whilst Dean, once again, patched up his brother. She was surprised by the level of care he took, how hard he worked not to cause any more hurt than was necessary, how he constantly reassured his brother and, how much it clearly upset Dean to see Sam in pain.

"You're very good at that Dean."

Dean looked Sam directly in the eyes as he responded to the woman's comment.

"Yeah. I've had _way_ too much practice."

...

Propped up on the couch, Sam winced at the same time as he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good news, _I _might be broke, but at least the laptop isn't. Time to figure out where this bastard's buried."

Picking Carla's purse up off the couch, Dean grinned.

"Go to it, Boy Wonder."

Sam glanced up,

"Suits you man, you should carry a purse more often. We can stop off in town later and choose a nice one for you if you like?"

Dean gave his brother the finger as he walked across to where Carla, still looking pale and shaken, was occupying herself making the brothers a sandwich. She looked up as Dean approached, holding her purse.

"Carla, I need to ask you whether there's any chance of you having any...souvenir...from your time at Lockwood in your purse? Specifically ward 25. Anything at all? Doesn't matter how irrelevant it might seem to you, might be a key, pen, anything."

Carla wiped her hands on a kitchen towel before taking the purse off Dean. Moving to the sink side, she tipped the contents out.

"I _was_ given a pen by the staff, we both were, me _and_ Dixi. They'd had them engraved with _Worlds Best Student_. It was only a cheap thing, but it meant a lot, still does...Here."

Dean took the grey metal retractable biro Carla held out to him.

"So, if this was a leaving gift, I assume they gave you at the end of your time there?"

"That's right. At the end of our last shift."

Dean nodded, handing the pen back to her.

"Ok. Anything else?"

"No, nothing. Why?"

"Sometimes a spirit, ghost, will attach itself to an object that was important to them when they were alive, you know? Instead of a place."

"Oh, I see. Well, take a look for yourself, the rest of it's just the usual junk that most women haul around with them. Does the pen matter?"

"No. That's only personal to you, not Clive."

"Sorry. If I'd known, I'd have made sure I got something of his at the time! You ready for a second attempt at something to..."

**_"Gotcha!"_**

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Some more soon.  
__Chick xxx_


	19. Chapter 19

_A.N. Loved all the guessing about exactly who shouted "Gotcha" :) All is revealed below.  
__Chick xxxx_

* * *

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

**o-o-o**

In a pure unconscious, reflex based reaction, Dean managed to have his open palms in the right place to be able to catch the plate of sandwiches which Carla instantly let go of, when her current jittery state increased tenfold in response to Sam's unexpected shout. Carla's hands flew to her chest in the area of her heart and she gasped in shock.

_"Fourcanalbarges! Son-of-a-she-dog! **Sam**! _My poor_ heart!"_

Sam had the good grace to look guilty, despite Dean's laughter.

"Oh crap! Carla! I'm sorry. I'm _really_ sorry!"

Holding onto the kitchen counter and breathing heavily Carla nodded.

"S'ok...I think I'll live but, _Good Lord_ Sam, did you _have_ to do that? ... Dean? What the...? Oh, _great!_ Glad you find an old woman's near fatal heart attack funny! You go ahead sonny, laugh some more! I'll just wait here quietly...Nice catch by-the-way."

Sam grinned as Dean tried to quell his laughter, which was beginning to creep dangerously close to hysteria. Carla had a twinkle in her eyes, despite the scowl on her face and her oh so grumpy tone.

"Carry on _dear_, don't mind me, will you?... _Hell_! Who knew that my heart damn near stopping would be so amusing?"

Calming enough to talk, Dean shook his head.

"I'm sorry. It's not that, _honest_ but, Carla?...How did it go again? Fourcanalbarges? Son-of-a-she-dog?... _Really_?"

Carla smiled and gave a shrug.

"Old habits. We obviously weren't allowed to swear in front of the patients. Some of the things we'd say instead were _truly_ baffling. So for example, a real favorite of mine was _Aai Chihuahua _and another regular was _Sssstripy Sunflowers! _I think I stormed off once with a growl of _Heat Seeking Varruca_! Now_ that_ one _was _weird, even by _my_ standards!"

Sam's grin grew broader as he heard his brother collapse into giggles again. It felt like forever since he had heard the sound of Dean genuinely laughing and, _at last_, he knew that his big brother was eventually going to be ok and, by the same token, so was he.

...

Still grinning widely, Dean turned to Sam.

"I'm guessin' you found somethin' dude?"

"Oh, yeah!...Yeah I did. Our boy Clive? By the time he died he was worth thousands of dollars, we're talking over 50k! All the patients received a weekly state allowance and, what they didn't spend just kept building up in their account which the Hospital managed on their behalf. After a patient passed away, if no living relatives could be traced, the money simply reverted back to the government. Clive, surprise, surprise, never asked for anything. So his money just kept accumulating. The usual searches were done after he died and, guess what? They turned up a second cousin on his mother's side. There's a record of the cousin, a Mrs Mary Watson, signing for Clive's body, then having it removed from the hospital morgue and transported to a funeral home, one Matthew Furlong and Son."

Carla walked over and stared at the at the old archive entry for Clive which was showing on the laptop screen.

"Furlong's is here in town. It's had a name change, it's now Furlong and Daughter and still very much a family run business. _Sam_!...Does this mean you can find out where he was buried?"

"Shouldn't be too much of a problem and, what it _does_ tell us? We can now be 99.9% certain that he's _not_ one of the 1,447."

Dean punched the air.

"_Finally_! A break! Awesome! Just needs one of us to do the long lost relative role and get old man Furlong to look back at his records and tell us where the sonov...Sorry...Where _poor_ cousin some stages removed Clive was buried, then we go pay our respects.

Sam had pulled up the web page for the funeral home, he glanced at his watch.

"Afraid it'll have to wait till tomorrow, it's gone office hours. It's the out of hours emergency service only now, you know, for if a body needs collecting. I don't think wanting to know where our long lost very distant cousin is planted is going to qualify as an emergency to them.

Dean turned to Carla,

"Looks like you're stuck with us for the evening."

Carla smiled nervously,

"No problem, I can book myself into a room..."

"Yes, you could or, if you'd prefer not to be alone, you're still welcome to stay with us."

Carla gave both brothers a look of gratitude.

"If you're sure? I mean, after today, if I'm being honest, I'm not certain I want to be alone till this things completely over with."

Dean turned to Sam for his backing.

"We're sure Carla. You might have to put up with Dean's crappy TV choice, but hopefully that's the worst that can happen."

Internally relieved that she wasn't going to be left alone with the nightmares she felt she was guaranteed to have, Carla broke into a wide grin.

"_Or_...Either of you two play poker by any chance?"

...

"You are _killing_ me woman! Who the Hell taught you to play poker?"

Carla grinned at Dean's frustration.

"It's amazing what you can learn when you work in a big psychiatric hospital, especially if you're on nights on the long stay wards."

Dean stared at his dwindling pile of quarters in dismay. Sam put his cards back on the coffee table.

"Looks like you've met your match bro. I'm out, I'm taking more pain killers and hitting the sack. You two have fun."

...

Feeling every part of himself that crash landed onto the dining table aching in unison, Sam listened to the conversation between Carla and Dean as he closed the door to the bedroom, and he smiled.

"See, I _know_ you're cheatin' lady...I just cant' figure _how_!"

"I can show you if you like?"

"What? _Hell _yes! You're on!"

...

Closing the door softly, Dean stood, letting his eyes adjust to the dark of the bedroom, checking which side of the bed Sam had taken, muttering quietly to himself when he made out the shape of his brother.

_"Oh, great. Park yourself slap bang in the middle why don't you?"_

With a sigh, Dean changed into his sleep joggers. Heading for the side of the bed that seemed to have a tiny amount of extra space, Dean shuffled himself in next to his brother as best he could, but he didn't quite manage not to disturb Sam.

"Wha?"

Whispering, Dean softly reassured Sam.

_"Shhh...It's only me. Hustle over to one side will you?... __**No**__ Sam!... The __**other**__ side, idiot...Thanks...You ok? Need a glass of water or anythin'?"_

"No'm'good..._Sleep_."

_"Ok."_

_..xxx..._

_"Sammy?"_

"Hmm?"

_"Did you set the alarm?"_

"Ess."

_"Good."_

_..xxx..._

_"Sam?...Sammy?"_

"Wha'!"

_"What time did you set it for?"_

"Seben."

_"Seben?"_

"Ess, seben."

_"Oh, ok."_

_..xxx..._

_"Sam?"_

"Goway oryu ded."

_"Oh. Right. Goodnight Sammy."_

"Gnmfff!"

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Night night boys :)  
__I will be posting at least __**three**__ more chapters through the course of today.  
__Chick xxxx_


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

**o-o-o**

Without opening his eyes, Sam patted the top of the bedside cabinet until he finally hit the alarm off button on the clock. For a few minutes he laid still, allowing himself to wake gradually. Taking note of which parts of himself throbbed, ached or was generally set to give him grief that day. When he opened his eyes, he was pleased to note that the bruising to his face wasn't interfering with his vision on that side. He rolled onto his back, preparing to sit up.

"Ow! Gofffnnmmeeff! _Caarrnn beeevvvv_!"

The muffled cry, combined with feeling a hard, squirmy lump under his back along with an amount of wriggling and shoving that no mattress was capable of, suddenly reminded Sam that he and Dean were sharing the bed. He rolled off of his brother's head as quickly as he could, groaning as he shifted. Dean instantly sat bolt upright, pulling in deep lungs full of air.

"_The Hell_, Sam? You tryin' to suffocate me?"

Slowly and carefully sitting himself up alongside his brother, Sam glared at Dean.

"I'm not_ trying_ to do anythin'! _You_ shouldn't leave your head layin' around in _my_ half of the damn bed!" If you'd stayed on your side, _where you belong_, I wouldn't have accidentally rolled onto your face... Er... _Ok_... That sorta sounded _waaay_ ickier than I meant it to."

"You're not kiddin' it did! I'm going to grab a shower, don't try movin' till I get back. Ok? Just lounge around..._Or whatever_. You've got around 10 minutes, but don't worry, I'll remember to knock instead of walkin' in on you."

"_Dean!"_

"What? All I'm sayin' is, enjoy the moment dude!"

"_Go_!..._Now_!"

...

Carla was already up when Dean walked out of the bedroom carrying his wash bag along with a dark suit and clean white shirt. Dean noticed how tired she looked and guessed she hadn't managed to get much sleep. She gave Dean a small smile.

"Hi...You two ok in there? Thought I heard you bickering."

Dean stopped and gave her an offended glare.

"Just so we're clear? Sam and me? We _don't_ bicker, we..._Argue_. And yes, we're fine. It's just Sammy, he likes to sprawl and he forgot we were sharing. I've told him to stay in bed, I'll see to him after my shower. Any more of that coffee left?"

"Fresh pot, ready when you are."

"Great!"

...

Sam was pretty sure he didn't need Dean's help to get out of bed and grab his clothes ready for his turn in the shower and so, very determinedly, he manoeuvred his aching body until he was sat on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, readying himself to have a go at the standing trick. Holding one arm up against his side to support his ribs, Sam rested his other hand on the top of the bedside cabinet, giving himself something solid to push up from. Taking three steadying breaths, he slowly began to push himself to his feet. Even though he raised himself up carefully, the change in altitude still made him feel a little dizzy. He closed his eyes waiting for the dizziness to settle. Opening his eyes again, he studied the distance from where he was, to the bedroom door. He figured that, if he made it_ that_ far, it might be enough to convince Dean that he was up to accompanying him to the funeral home. All he had to do was stop his knees from shaking, hide the fact that he was hurting, and look as though he was able to walk comfortably. _No problem_. _Come on Winchester. Let's show big brother how fit and well we're feeling this morning. How's it work? Oh yeah, one foot forward first, then the other one moves up to join it, stand straight, smile, and stop huggin' my ribs. That should about do it. Here we go. Your mission Sam Winchester? To boldly go waaayy over there, to the door. And we're off..."_

_..._

Holding his breath to stop himself vocalising the strain he was putting on his various injuries, Sam stiffly moved one foot forward and set off on his marathon journey, eyes firmly fixed on his goal. Sam was concentrating so much, he missed the sound of the soft knock on the door. Suddenly noticing the door begin to open inwards, he had to step quickly to one side in order to avoid being hit by it, and the movement drew a groan from him. Dean's head immediately popped around the door, and the older hunter's eyes widened when he saw Sam up on his feet, an expression of clear discomfort on his face.

"Goin' somewhere little brother?"

Even though Sam knew Dean had caught him out, he _still_ tried to bullshit his way out of the bedroom unaided.

"Er, yeah. Coffee. I'm feeling much better this morning."

Dean folded his arms and nodded.

"Really? Is that so? Well, that's great! Oh, you'll need your suit. It's in the closet there. Wanna go get it?"

"Oh..._Sure_. Go on, I'll be right behind you."

Sam tried for casual smile, but ended up with a lop-sided grimace instead. Dean shook his head once.

"No, I'll wait. Go on then, grab your suit."

Sam glared at Dean briefly.

"Fine...I _will_."

...

In his attempts to con Dean, Sam turned back around quickly. Somehow, although Sam was sure he had moved them, his feet stayed rooted to the spot and he ended up with his ankles crossing over themselves, completely undoing his fragile balancing act which was further compromised by the intense bolts of pain instantly screaming out from his ribs, hip and knife wound. With a moan and a curse, Sam felt himself begin to collapse. Dean had clearly been expecting it, and was almost immediately on hand to catch his younger brother, taking Sam's weight and stopping him from heading to the floor. He kept his hold on Sam whilst Sam untangled his ankles and moved his feet to support himself. Sam regained his balance, but Dean wasn't about to withdraw the safety of his arms.

"Right, how about we start again now I'm here? I'll help you get to the shower room, where _you_ will stay putt while_ I_ grab your clothes. Then I'll help you into the shower and stay with you just in case. Gottit?"

Sam gave a defeated sigh.

"Yes Dean."

"_Yes Dean_...Well done bro, good answer."

...

Sam looked at the clothes Dean had brought for him.

"No, Dean. I need my suit."

"Why?"

Sam knew where this was heading, but he said it anyway.

"To go with you to the funeral home?"

Dean gave an easy laugh.

"Your sense of humour never fails Sammy, does it? Good job I can tell when you're kiddin'...Right, let's get you into the shower."

Defeated, knowing how pointless it was to try arguing any more Sam, very reluctantly, gave up.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY ONE**

**o-o-o**

Dean climbed out of the Impala, his gaze resting on the frontage of the funeral home before moving to stare at the body work of the Impala. Despite the gleaming external condition of the car, in his mind's eye he could still picture the devastation wrought upon his baby, first by the impact of the truck, then by his own hand when his anger and his overwhelming grief at the death of his father had one day exploded uncontrollably out of him. Dean patted the side of the car apologetically before making his way to the passenger side and opening the door for Carla. Carla stepped out nervously, her eyes darting all around. Since Dean's raid on the communal laundry back at the motel, she had managed to convince herself that every single member of the state police department was now tracking them down, spying on them from the upper windows of the shops across the street and preparing to shoot on sight over the theft of the smart jacket and the dress she was currently wearing. Dean was aware of the woman's nervousness.

"If you'd rather stay in the car...?"

Carla quickly wrapped her arm through his.

"No! No, I'll be fine once we get inside, honest."

Dean looked at her seriously, then nodded.

"Ok. Let's do this then..._Mrs Shafton_."

Carla stood herself up to her full height.

"Fine son. Let's go find out where cousin Clive was laid to rest."

...

There was the sound of an old fashioned bell when Dean opened the entrance door to the premises to allow Carla to step inside first, before he followed her into the subdued but comfortable reception area. A selection of appropriately inoffensive background music was playing, and the black suited receptionist was a picture of sorrow and empathy as she stepped forward to greet the pair.

"Hello madam, sir. I don't recognise either of you from around these parts. Would you be here with regard to a gentleman named Mr Clive Furness? We spoke on the phone earlier. Am I right in my understanding that you wish to know where Mr Furness was laid to rest?"

Dean smiled at the woman.

"That's right. I'm Derek Shafton, and this is my mother."

Carla extended her hand to the woman.

"_Please_, call me Margaret. Mr Furness was a distant cousin of mine, on my mother's side. Of course, I never met the poor man. I understand that my mother never knew he existed, not until after he had passed away. Of course, she then felt it was her duty to ensure he received a proper funeral."

The receptionist nodded.

"That was an extremely compassionate thing to do on her part. Did she never tell you where he was laid to rest?"

Carla didn't hesitate.

"Actually, she only spoke of him once, just before she herself succumbed to a lengthy illness, and I really don't recall her speaking about where the funeral was held, just that she had arranged one. My son here has recently begun researching the family tree."

Dean took up the cue.

"Yes, I have. That's how we've come to be here. I know my grandmother used yourselves for the funeral in 1982. We would _very_ much like to be able to visit Mr Furness' grave, and pay our respects."

The woman smiled,

"Of course. And I think that's a wonderful gesture. Your mother chose a burial for Mr Furness. Here, according to our old records, this is where his funeral took place. Apparently your mother had a small headstone placed on his grave, I've copied all the information recorded in our archives for you."

Dean took the offered sheet of paper from the receptionist.

"Thank you, Miss? Mrs?"

"It's Mrs, Mrs Wells, and there's no need to thank me. I'm just very happy that we were able to help."

...

Dean read the information and glanced at the simple map of the cemetery they had been given, whilst he and Carla walked back to the car.

"Hillview Cemetery. Do you know the place?"

"Yes. Yes I do. It's the one of the two bigger cemeteries around here, it's only around ten miles from Lockwood."

"Well Carla...It looks like we can finally end this tonight for you. We'd better get back to Sam, let him know what we've found. Then him and me can get on with the _argument_ about whether he comes to the cemetery or not. If you don't fancy being around, there's a teeny resident's bar back at the motel."

Feeling very much relieved by Dean's confident declaration, Carla gave Dean a mischievous smile.

"Hell no...Sounds like it's goin' to be _much_ more entertaining if I stick around with you two! How about we pick up late breakfast on the way back? No good arguing on an empty stomach."

...

"Great! That's excellent! What time do you wanna set off? And...No offence intended...But, what about Carla?"

Dean smiled as he answered, readying himself for the Sam Winchester rocket to lift off.

"No problem bro. Carla will be here of course...Keeping an eye on you."

There was a moment's pause whilst in his mind, Sam re-played Dean's statement. The moment Dean saw the bitch face begin to form and Sam's mouth begin to open, he stuck both fingers in his ears, screwed his eyes closed and began to loudly, and tunelessly, _La la la_ across his younger brother's rant.

From the kitchenette, Carla began to chuckle to herself as she watched the performance unfold. Sam was furious, both at the fact that Dean thought he had the right to decide whether Sam stayed or went with him, _and_ at Dean's child like behaviour. Disregarding any cost to himself, Sam let loose with one long arm and punched his brother on the jaw, not hard enough to cause any real damage, but hard enough to rock Dean's head sideways and back, shocking Dean from his dumb La la-ing and causing him to open his eyes and stare at Sam in stunned disbelief.

"_Sam_!"

"Dean?"

"_Stop_! Please stop, both of you."

Together, Sam and Dean turned to see Carla frozen to the spot, her eyes wide and fearful as she stared at both of them.

Dean immediately rounded on Sam.

"Now look what you've done. You've gone and upset Carla. Way to go Sammy."

"_You_ started it, jackass..."

"_Please_, you're _both_ scaring me. I can't cope with it. You're _brothers_ for chrissake. Sam, how can you hurt Dean like that? I've _seen_ how devoted he is to you, how much he worries about you. And Dean? I would _never_ have thought you could be so _ignorant_ towards someone you love so much."

Both hunters seemed to shrink and mysteriously turn into twelve year olds, hanging their heads in shame and, in unison, mumbling an apology to Carla.

"Thank you, that's better. Come and grab your breakfasts and then, if you still need to discuss this, try doing it like adults, ok?"

...

Begrudgingly, Dean eventually acquiesced.

"Fine. Alright. _But_...The only thing you get to do is watch my back, and shoot the bastard full of rock salt if he appears. Agreed?"

Sam gave a short nod of satisfaction, he could live with those terms.

"Agreed."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY TWO**

**o-o-o**

Dean steadily drove around the suburban area, checking the whole perimeter of what was, clearly, the town's main cemetery and crematorium. As expected, both the main front and the back wrought iron entrance gates were closed and padlocked for the night. The gates themselves were set into a six foot high perimeter wall built of solid stone. That in itself posed no problem in the normal run of things, but on this occasion, Dean wanted to be able to avoid Sam having to do any climbing if at all possible. Sam gave Dean a nudge, drawing his attention to a single side gate. Judging by the dead leaves and other debris pile up against the bottom of the gate, both on the street side and the inner side, and combined with the generally unkempt state of the gate itself, it was very infrequently used, if at all. Mature trees lining the sidewalk cast their shadows created by the street lights onto the gate and walls, providing areas of dark cover. Dean parked up nearby.

"I'll go check it out, see whether it's locked, ok?"

Sam nodded.

"Even if it is, I can always try having a go at the lock. It's unlikely we'll be spotted at this time of night and if we stay in the shadows."

Dean glanced from the gate to the wall and back again.

"You're right. You wait here with the kit, I'll go park the old girl a couple of streets away, somewhere she won't attract attention, not too much anyway. Can't guarantee there won't be anyone pass by and, if they do, her class and grace means they _still_ might give her a look of appreciation, but I'll do my best. Ok?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Seriously dude, you and this car need to go get yourselves a garage! Ok, let me get out then pass me the kit bag. I'm assumin' my lock picks are in there?"

"Front pocket. If the gate's unlocked, or you manage to deal with the lock before I get back, wait for me. _Do NOT _go inside till I'm with you. Got that?"

"Sure thing."

"Sam. I'm serious. I ...sorry. _We_, have already made one stupid mistake within the past 24 hours. We don't need another one, not today. You with me?"

"Of course. Trust me Dean. I can do some real major league dumb things, but being alone inside those walls? Stop looking so nervy, I've no plan to be _that_ level of maniac Dean"

"Well, alright then."

...

Scanning the area to ensure that no one was quietly observing them, Sam didn't hear Dean's approach until he was only three or four yards away. Familiar with the majority of sounds that Dean made, he knew immediately that it was his brother approaching and he didn't startle then, nor when Dean's voice suddenly came out of the dark and whispered to him from only inches away.

"_Are we in_?"

Sam's answer was to reach out with one hand and push the gate inwards, opening it to around eighteen or twenty inches.

"Awesome. Was it locked?"

Sam shook his head.

"Padlock had bust at some point, guess it just got forgotten about and never got replaced. Can't open the gate any wider though without some serious squealing and grating noises. We'll just have to shrink to fit."

Dean's eyes scanned over Sam, from the top of his head right down to his feet.

"Well, _I'll_ fit through that, no problem. _You_ however, my giant baby brother?"

"Don't worry about me, I'll fit. _You're_ the one developing the burger belly!"

Dean frowned and looked down at himself, he stroked a hand over his stomach.

"No way! Look at that! Lean an' mean, that's me. The only bulges _there_ dude are the result of my firm and well formed abs."

Looking up again, he caught Sam's dead pan expression.

Turning away, Dean began muttering under his breath as he slid carefully through the gap left by the partially opened gate. Sam was smirking whilst he passed the kit bag through to where Dean waited, before following his brother into the unlit cemetery grounds.

...

Although the sky's were free of cloud cover, it was the slim crescent of a new moon that hung in the heavens above the two hunters and so it offered only a little to light their surroundings. The silhouette of the crematorium, with it's tall, narrow chimney, stood pitch black and imposing against the dark blue black of the sky. Crouched in the lea of the perimeter wall, Sam flicked on a maglight and checked their position, comparing it to the position given for the building on the naively drawn line map Dean gained at the funeral home. Dean peered over Sam's shoulder.

"See how the grounds have been broken down into sections dependant on the year of burial? This one's ours, 1980 to 1990."

Dean nodded.

"So, if we head in a straight line from the crem. till we're roughly half way in, then turn right, that should put us on the edge of the section we're after, yeah?"

"Pretty much. From there it's just a case of finding the rows covering 1982, and wander along them till we find our target."

"Ok. Great...Sammy?...Did you remember to load the shotguns with rock salt?"

Sam was instantly annoyed at his brother for even _thinking_ that he had to ask.

"Dean! _Jeeze_! Give me _some _credit, can't you?"

Sam saw the grin that materialised on Dean's face.

"Oh, _ha ha_. Such overwhelming hilarity!"

"Serves you right for sayin' I've got Burger Belly, Dumbo."

...

Neither hunter had any problem seeing their way without the aid of the maglight and, as they walked along the tree lined footpath, both already had their respective guns in their hand, knowing that Clive's ghost may already have felt their presence in the cemetery. Having taken point, Dean came to a halt, his fist raised, signalling to his brother to freeze. Dean cocked his head to one side, listening. This time they _both_ heard the shuffling noise coming from a little way to their left and getting closer. Dean's hand directed Sam to move off the path to the right. Silently, they both quickly took cover behind the trunk of a tree and waited, guns raised. Dean was the first to catch sight of the creature. It was clear from it's movements that the thing was, as yet, completely ignorant of the fact that the hunters were in such close proximity to it. Sam still had no visual on the source of the sounds, when Dean unexpectedly stepped out into the open, directly into it's path. Without hesitation, Sam moved half a second after Dean, and took up his rightful place, alongside his brother.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	23. Chapter 23

_A.N. Welcome to the __**final chapters**__ :) Also, there's a couple of people that I can't respond to by PM as they're signed in as guest, so to __QUEEN BEE__ and __SINTHIJA __**Thank you!:D  
**__Chick xxxx_

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY THREE**

**o-o-o**

Sam glared at the creature as it continued towards them.

"_Really_? We were hiding from a freakin' _skunk_?"

At the sound of Sam's low but irritated tone the animal froze, startled by the realisation that it wasn't alone. Dean took a few steps backwards. Sam glanced over his shoulder at his brother. He spoke in a hissed whisper.

"Where're you goin'?"

Dean nodded his head toward the skunk.

"Do you know the range that thing can shoot you at? _Ten foot_ bro. Step away from it Sam, don't cause it to feel threatened."

Sam looked back at the skunk who was currently sniffing the air.

"Ok little fellah, seems you've got the right of way."

Turning quickly, Sam hurried after Dean, who was already continuing on toward the centre of the cemetery.

...

Sam's soft voice from behind drew Dean to a halt.

"Dean, I think we're about roughly central, we should head right, see what date section's over that way."

The pair cut through an island area of grass and conifers, until they reached the edge of another wide footpath. Through the deciduous trees lining the opposite side of the footpath, they could make out neat rows of headstones. Without a sound, the brothers made their way over to the section they could see. Flicking on the maglight, Sam bent to check the date on the head stone at the end of the row nearest to him.

"What we got?"

"This one's 1988, so we're in the right section. Just need to check the rows left from here till we find the ones from '82."

Sam took over the lead from Dean, whispering out the year showing on the end stones of each row as they came to them, stopping when they arrived at the first headstone marked with the relevant year.

"Ok, this's it. Split up or stay together?"

Dean didn't hesitate.

"We stick together on this one bro. Our friend's gonna be _more_ than pissed if... Scratch that..._When_ he decides to try to stop us from flaming his old bones."

"I'm up with that. So long as we find his plot _before_ he gets here, hopefully all he's gonna find he can throw is insults."

"Why so?"

Sam simply grinned in answer to Dean's query.

"Fine, keep it to yourself. Lets get a move on and find the little shit."

...

"_There_ you are Snivels. I'm looking forward to roastin' _you_, my fugly friend...Fiend...Whichever."

Dean had stopped in front of a simple square headstone of polished grey granite. A small brass plaque in it's centre bore the legend **Clive Furness. 1901 - 1982 R.I.P.**

Sam held his hand out for the kit bag.

"You're not thinking you're doin' any digging are you?"

"No, just pass me the kit bag."

Unzipping the bag, Sam shone the maglight inside. Pulling out the fold-up spade, he passed it across to Dean before rummaging around again, his hand emerging holding a good sized sack of salt. Dean looked surprised.

"I _thought_ it felt heavier than usual. Hell, you never know eh? It might just work tonight, hardly any breeze and a sheltered spot. You sort that then, I'll start digging. Make sure you put a circle around yourself as well. Here, take my gun and keep those eyes peeled for Snivels."

Sam frowned, puzzled as he tossed a silver coloured flask of oil over to Dean

"What's with the Snivels?"

Catching the flask, Dean popped it on the ground near where he would be digging. Sam waited whilst Dean patted his jacket pocket, satisfying himself that his lighter was there.

"It's Clive's nick name is all, gave it to him back at the motel when the jerkoff was bein' shy with his name. Right, let's do this."

Whilst Dean set to and began the arduous task of digging his way down to Clive's coffin, Sam began laying a salt circle around his brother, his eyes continually scanning the area as he did. He offered what salt was left to Dean.

"Naa. You keep hold, might need to make some runnin' repairs to the circles. I packed the usual canister in the bag, we sure shouldn't run out any time soon."

...

Despite both brothers having exhumed many bodies over the years, there was a limit to how fast one man could dig through such a large amount of soil using one average garden spade. The older graves were the worst as the soil had usually become impacted over the years. Even worse than _that_, was digging after or during a prolonged period of rain, when the soil turned to heavy mud. Although the soil was currently dry, Dean was soon feeling the impact of his labour in his arms and back. He'd already shrugged off his jacket and his tee now clung to his body, soaked in his sweat. Having managed to remove the top 12 inch layer of decorative pebbles and soil, Dean stopped and sat on the edge of the rectangular shaped hole. Seated close by, himself within a circle of salt, Sam grabbed a bottle of water out of the kit bag and tossed it to his brother. Breathing heavily from his exertions, Dean nodded his thanks. Dean allowed himself a couple of minutes to get his breath back, then continued to dig, silent except for an occasional grunt of effort.

...

Sam found himself having to keep an eye on his brother. As Dean got closer and closer to his goal, Sam had to remind him more often to stop and drink more water. All the while, Sam remained constantly on the alert for any signs that might indicate that Clive was in the vicinity. He had placed one of the shotguns on the floor beside him within his salt circle, the other shotgun rested comfortably in his hands. Yet, despite all of Sam's vigilance, he was _still_ taken by surprise when the spirit finally coalesced, directly behind him.

...

Something internal, a vague sense of unease, caused Dean to pause whilst he was about to heave another spade full of earth out of the ever deepening hole he was standing in. Raising his head, he felt the rush of a swift, strong breeze ruffle through his hair. He spun around to warn his brother, and saw Clive, already close to being fully formed, floating outside the salt circle's edge, just behind his unknowing brother.

The ghost of a tall, thin older man with wild and sparse shoulder length hair and thick, heavy eyebrows looked at Dean and smiled maliciously at the same time that Dean called out to Sam. At the exact moment in which Sam swivelled around with gun raised, intent on shooting the ghost, the strange localised breeze changed direction and purpose, becoming a short blast of ground level chill wind, that scattered asunder part of the fragile protective salt circle salt surrounding Sam. Sam didn't succeed in firing a single shot. A simple hand gesture by the ghost hauled Sam violently out from within the broken circle of salt. The apparition held Sam high in the air and glanced quickly around the area before focusing his gaze back to Dean.

"Wanna see somethin' real cool, _pretty boy_?"

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Methinks Clive is picking on Sam ;p  
__Chick xxxx_


	24. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR**

**o-o-o**

"Let go of my brother _dick wad."_

"_Sure._ All you hav'ta do is start fillin' in that hole..._Well_? "

Dean raised his eyes to look up at where Sam hung in the air, powerless to overcome the force which held him. His intense gaze holding Dean's, his expression determined, Sam managed the smallest shake of his head. Every cell in Dean's body was currently screaming out _Protect your brother, watch over Sam, it's your job to keep Sam safe._ For Dean to do anything else but follow that instinct, was to battle against his own nature. With difficulty, he tore his gaze away from his brother and focused back on to the ghost, his glare one of arctic ice.

"Kiss my _ass_, Fuckwit."

Clive's face began to darken, the lines and wrinkles appeared to carve themselves deeper, became sharper. An image of someone, somewhere, controlling everything by computer and slowly turning up the contrast levels bizzarly came into Dean's mind. The thing's heavy eyebrows drew further together and it's eyes darkened, becoming the impenetrable black of an eternal Hell swirling deep behind empty sockets. Looking into the twin black spaces, Dean felt strongly that he was staring down into two dark, bottomless pools of madness, and it made his stomach churn. Dean readied himself to move.

...

The ghost began to roar, it's mouth stretching open, further and further, impossibly wide, and it turned it's head towards Sam. Dean took his cue. He threw himself out of the depths of the hole he was stood in as, simultaneously, the ghost held one hand up to Sam, and simply waved the young hunter away. Sam was hurled through the air like a leaf on the wind, the trajectory intentionally putting him on route to collide with one of the trees which lined the footpath.

...

The crack of a gunshot masked the sound of Sam crunching hard against the trunk of the tree, hitting against it solidly with his back. Sam dropped to the floor like a rag doll...And Dean wasn't Dean anymore. He shut everything out bar his task, opening himself up, he let the pure hunter within take over. He was a soldier, a killer, _this_ Dean was his father's creation, and only the desire to banish the spirit mattered. Without a glance across to where Sam was laid, Dean jumped back into the grave pit, the shotgun he had grabbed from where Sam had been sat held firmly in one hand. Time was precious, he knew the spirit would be back. Tucking his shotgun under one arm, he grabbed his spade and dug like an automaton, dug like he had never done before, his strength and speed fortified by his hate and rage.

...

In an inelegant heap of arms and legs, Sam laid unmoving other than his mouth which was opening and closing like a fish that was suddenly without water. The wheezing, juddering sound of ancient bellows accompanied the unconscious hunter's battle to breathe, as his body desperately fought to replenish the air knocked out of his lungs by the force at which he had smacked into the tree trunk. Each time he sucked air in, there was the audible sound of ribs grinding and clicking as an accompaniment to the bellows. An over sized pale brown spider had found itself knocked down from the tree as a result of Sam's fall. Uncurling from it's pretense of being dead, it made it's way through Sam's tangled mane of hair, emerging again at his shirt collar. The spider scuttling across the shirt and half way down Sam's back; where it froze briefly in response to the noise of a further gunshot. Changing direction, it's long, downy covered legs carried it back up onto Sam's shoulder, where it tumbled to the pine needle covered ground. It was perfectly camouflaged now against the browns of the cast off dead leaves as it scurried back towards the base of the tree trunk, and quickly began to climb.

...

Again tucking the shotgun high up under his arm, Dean glanced at his watch. Three minutes, that's how long he'd had in order to keep digging before Clive's furiously screeching ghost had reappeared. He drove the spade back into the soil, jarring his shoulders when it thudded against something solid. Dean didn't pause, using the front edge of the spade head, he raced to scrape away part of the remaining thin layer of earth to gratefully reveal the wood of the coffin lid. Exhausted, he steadfastly carried on, and rammed the head of the spade through the lid so hard that the spade head finally parted company with the shaft. Flinging the broken tool aside, Dean grasped the gun, frantically glancing around, looking for the spirit and at the same time using his booted foot to stamp and smash away more of the coffin's lid. If his foot happened to go through the timbre and onto the bones within, breaking some of them in the process, Dean didn't care, in fact he actively _wanted_ to stamp all over Clive's bones.

...

An amorphous cloud appeared on Dean's left, he fired again, not waiting for the ghost to fully form, not daring to give Clive the opportunity to tear apart his circle of protective salt, as the thing had done with Sam's. _Sammy. _His brother's name exploded through the self induced, thought free shell that Dean had mentally rigged up to allow him to focus on, and devote himself completely to, the task at hand. Now however, he stalled...And an overpowering fear for his brother rose up and swamped him.

...

Someone needed help. He could hear their hiccupping grunts of pain, their groans, and their ragged breaths. Eyes closed, he tuned in to the sounds of hurt, trying to gauge from which direction they came. His eyebrows knotted into a frown. The sounds were close, very close, so close, _too_ close. He tried to hold his breath, stop his own breathing so that he could better hear the other person. He couldn't do it, he gasped for air, and realised the sound of a breeze flowing tunelessly over the pipes of an organ came from himself. With realisation came pain, and Same cried out. Wordless, it was the pure sound of animal distress and it left him panting as an internal fire blazed all through his back. His hands and fingers clawed, digging down into the earthy ground, needing to hold onto something, to feel something other than the agonising flames of hurt, needing to know that other things existed in his world, not just the searing pains that twisted through his back. It bothered him that he couldn't recall the horse and cart that _must_ have driven over him, how else could this much hurt be caused? It bothered him that he seemed to be alone, that no familiar voice was offering reassurance or ordering him to stay awake. _Where's Dean? Need Dean._ Amongst the haze of pain, Sam felt a mix of both irritation and worry. On the one hand he was irritated that Dean didn't seem to realise that Sam needed his big brother; on the other hand, Sam worried about the significance of the fact that his big brother wasn't next to him. Despite his pain, Sam recognised that he was going to have to open his eyes.

...

A head slowly turned, and the quiet light of the new moon glinted off hazel eyes. There were stars, so that had to be the sky. Outdoors then. That supported the horse and cart theory, but the theory was beginning to feel wrong. Each movement made his back thrum but strangely, the stretching of muscles was helping to reduce the lightening flashes of pain somewhat. Pain that had been brought about by..._Ghost! Dean! Clive!_ _Lockwood!_ And the memories spewed forth, crash landing back into place.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	25. Chapter 25

_A.N. Please could I ask that you read the A.N. at the end, 'cos I'm offering a choice to all of you who have accompanied the brothers on this hunt. Till next we meet. Chick xxxx_

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE**

**o-o-o**

Dean hurled himself out of the grave, grabbing at the flask of oil and looking around frantically. _Where? Where is...There!_ Leaping across the hole he had dug, he slid to his knees by the kit bag, one hand gripping his gun, the other feeling for the canister of salt that he had put in there, not knowing that Sam had packed extra for his own purpose. _Sammy! Please be ok!_ He was in the process of rising to his feet, when he felt the rush of cold wind around his ankles. _No! Not yet!_

"Never turn your back on the enemy, _punk_. Didn't your pops bother tellin' you that one?"

Dean spun around to face the spirit who stood grinning wildly on the opposing side of the burial hole. The sensation of hot knives being gouged down the back of his hands made Dean gasp in shock, and forced him to drop the precious items he held. The spirit blinked out of existence, appearing again next to Dean, standing so close that Dean could feel the chill of the ghostly form leaning up against his body. Cold lips brushed his ear and Dean couldn't stop the tremble that coursed through him when Clive's cruel voice whispered to him.

"Ever heard the phrase _your ass is mine_, pretty boy?"

...

Sam gritted his teeth against the searing pains shooting down his back, one hand was once again clamped in it's familiar position, trying to support his ribs and make the hurt something like tolerable. He couldn't, wouldn't allow himself to cry out with pain, didn't want to draw attention to himself. A low growl was all he conceded as his eyes locked onto the motionless figure of his brother, stood at the side of the hole he had dug, the ghostly form of Clive next to him, it's eyes fixed on his brother as it placed one glowing hand against Dean's chest, and slowly began to move it caressingly down, over Dean's body.

...

Rage, fear, horror, denial, fury. They served lift Sam beyond his pain, to feel none of it. The only thing Sam felt was the desire to kill, and he raised the hand which had stubbornly, determinedly, kept it's grip on the shotgun. Sam's aim was perfect, the shot rang out, and Dean was instantly alone. Sam was already moving as fast as he could towards his brother, when he saw Dean drop bonelessly to the floor. Sam's heart longed to go directly and check on his brother; his head told him he couldn't spare the time. The military voice of John Winchester barked at him in his mind. _You've got a job to do boy...**Do it**_! As Sam homed in on the grave, his eyes were already scanning around until he saw what he was looking for, and a grim smile graced his lips. His movements flowing like quicksilver Sam grabbed the salt canister off the floor, flipped the lid and poured, all in a heartbeat. A shiver down his neck was the only signal he needed to raise the shotgun and shoot into centre of the tiny orb of light which flickered into being over Dean's body, and was blown out like a candle. Without stopping, Sam put the toe of his boot under the silver flask of oil laid at his brother's side and flicked the flask straight up into his waiting hand. Using the thumb and forefinger of the same hand which clasped the flask, Sam deftly unscrewed the cap, and pored. Closing his eyes, still afraid yet to look at his brother, Sam reached over Dean to recover his brother's discarded jacket and retrieve the lighter that he knew nestled in a pocket. Sam swiftly returned to stand by the graveside and he stared down into the depths of the burial hole, catching his first sight of the skeletal remains of the man he intended to send straight to Hell. Shotgun in one hand, lighter in the other, Sam finally stilled himself, his breathing calm and steady, waiting. Sam was determined that spirit of Clive Furness would be given the time and the opportunity to realise that he was about to become truly dead; before Sam lit the fire that would turn his brittle bones to ash.

...

Sam began humming to himself whilst he waited, only really becoming aware of _what_ he was humming when his soft rendition of Highway to Hell reached the title lines. Sam smiled and went from humming to singing the words to the title chorus, increasing his volume a little when he saw the first sign that the spirit was making another appearance. The ghostly figure of Clive coalesced before him, and Sam saw it's mouth begin to stretch open wide in fear when it saw Sam stood strong in front of it, his eyes cold, hard, unforgiving. The ghost shook it's head. A scream of protest echoed out from the gaping maw of it's mouth when it realised what the words were that the hunter stood singing. It saw Sam's look of triumph as he wiggled the fingers of his hand in goodbye, and watched in fear when the flaming lighter left Sam's hand and tumbled down into the coffin. Sam took a step back from the graves edge, and the salt and oil caught with a **_whoosh_**. The ghost continued to scream whilst supernatural flames hungrily began to devour it, until the thing at last exploded apart, and the world stood a little bit safer.

...

Feeling his own pain now returning, Sam stumbled the few steps towards his brother, letting himself drop to his knees at Dean's side. Reaching out, Sam flinched at how cold the touch of the ghost had left his brother's skin feeling. Sam moved his hand to lay it over Dean's heart, where he had first seen the spirit place _it's_ hand. The beat of Sam's own heart slowed, relaxed, and he bowed his head in relief when he felt the gentle rise and fall of Dean's chest, and the wonderful steady beat of his brother's heart, beneath the palm of his hand.

"You're ok. You're ok. Thank God, you're going to be ok."

"Wha'?... Wha' you say?...M'ok?"

A wide smile blossomed on Sam's face when he heard the slurred words and saw the hint of green that meant Dean was opening his eyes. His own vision suddenly blurring, Sam nodded.

"That's right big brother...You are. _We_ are."

Dean's now wide eyed gaze locked onto Sam's face, and his own soft smile grew to match Sam's, whilst he moved to place his own hand on top of his baby brother's.

"Sammy?..._You're here_!"

Sam's smile grew even broader.

"That's right Dean, I'm here. We're together again big brother...Batman and Robin, remember? You and me. The Winchester brothers, side by side, and _that's_ where we _both_ belong."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. I, personally, am happy to leave it here with the brothers reconciled. As the running theme was grief, it kinda seems appropriate that they come to that in a cemetery. _ HOWEVER,_ if anyone feels that they want an __**epilogue**__, then you're gonna have to let me know. End date for people to say if they __**do**__ want an epilogue is : _**Saturday July 27**_. (2013 obviously :D) If there is a goodly number out there who want it,, I promise I will endeavour to write and post that very same day._

_Otherwise, __**thank you**__ to all those of you who have reviewed, followed, set as favorite or set up alerts for this fic. I am **truly** honoured that you felt it merited your time.  
_**_Huge hugs, cuddles and chick flick moments to every one out there.  
_****_Bye bye.  
_****_Chick xxxx_**


	26. Chapter 26

_A.N. Thank you to everyone who has read this story and, an extra thank you to those who have dropped in a comment/review, also an extra special thank you to those wonderful souls who keep me going with regular chat and comments, so many of which have given me so many laughs along the way :D You've all been a delight once again! Chick xxxx_

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

**o-o-o**

Sat stiffly upright, Carla waited, her only real movement being the occasional glance at her watch. She tensed when she heard the sound of a car pulling up outside, and the noise of the engine die. There was a few moments of further silence, then the thump of a car door being closed. Muffled footsteps were next. There was a noise, it sounded like something in pain. _An animal? Maybe a dog whimpering? _A second door thudded closed, and uneven, staggered footsteps made slow progress over gravel. Eventually coming to a halt just beyond the door to the room where Carla still sat. Flinching, she finally rose out of her chair when twice a booted foot kicked heavily against the door. Moving soundlessly, she stood on tiptoe to peer through the spy hole, a small gasp caught in her throat. She fumbled to fit the door key into the lock, finally able to yank the door open, her eyes rapidly switching from Dean to his semi-conscious brother and back. It was very clear that the _only_ reason that Sam remained vertical at all, was because Dean was grimly clinging on to him, taking virtually all Sam's weight and battling to keep him upright.

"A hand?"

...

Together Carla and Dean half walked, half carried Sam to the bedroom. As they helped Sam to lay down, the movement dragged another low groan out of Sam, Carla realised it hadn't been an animal that she'd heard outside in the car park. Moving to pull Sam's boots off, Dean twisted his head around to glance at Carla.

"Could you get me a glass of water and some painkillers from the med aid kit?"

With a nod, she hurried out of the bedroom again. When she returned, Dean had placed an extra pillow under Sam's head. Carla swallowed hard, watching Dean check the dressings on his brother's knife wound. Her eyes took in the map of dark purple bruising to Sam's ribs. Pulling Sam's tee back down, Dean reached to take the water and pills from Carla with a grateful smile.

"Thanks."

"The bruising...It looks worse."

Dean nodded as he helped Sam raise his head enough to swallow the painkillers.

"They are, and he's got a nice shiny new set decorating his back as well."

"What happened?"

She was surprised when it was Sam himself who answered, the strain in his voice betraying his pain.

"M'ok...Juss, no more throw'n at tables or trees? Fed up'a flying!"

Dean gave a short laugh.

"Your flying's fine Sammy, it's those landings you really gotta work on bro'."

Carla's unasked question was clearly written on her face. Dean gave her a tired smile and a nod.

"Yes Carla, he's gone. My little brother here sent that sonova..._she dog_, to Hell, may he rest in many pieces."

Sam could hear the pride in Dean's voice, and his cheeks reddened, adding to the myriad of colours that already decorated his face.

Carla's eyes widened, her legs suddenly feeling too weak to hold her, she plonked herself down on the edge of Sam's bed and, whilst her eyes shone with tears and her smile was enough to light the room, her command of language appeared to deteriorate.

"_Really?_...I..._Oh_ _shit_...Thank you, _thank you_. Crap. Shit. Oh, I'm sorry...But, I can go home?...You, _both_ of you, you did it! _Thank you!..._But, _look_ at you both!"

Dean shook his head,

"Me? I'm fine, Sammy's the one that got hurt."

Carla stood up, stretching to her full height, and staring up at Dean seriously.

"Don't you try that crap on _me_ kid. You're _not_ fine, you're cold and I can see for myself that you're exhausted. Young Sam here _certainly_ needs a few days rest. Well, I'm telling you both right now, neither of you are staying here. You know what? You _both_ need a nurse, and I happen to know a very good one. I'll make us all a hot drink and then, Dean? Once you've warmed up, get packing. Both of you are coming home with me; and that's an order!"

Having already turned away and begun to head for the kitchen, Carla didn't see the look which passed between the brothers at her parting comment. Sam held Dean's gaze, obviously wanting to say something, but hesitating.

"Alright Sammy, spit it out, what's on your mind?"

"Dad...I heard him Dean...In my head, a memory but...It helped, _he_, helped. He reminded me that I had a job I needed to do...Dean? What he taught us? It's important, _really_ important. It saves lives, Hell, it's saved _our _lives _more_ than once. I know that what we do matters and...We have to carry on."

"You sure Sammy? You really certain that's what you want?"

Sam's hand found his brother's and, giving Dean no choice, he held on.

"Honestly?...One day, sure, I'd like to be able to quit, you know? When the job's done. I'd like us _both_ to have something else. But, that's not today...Dad's dead, and I miss him, I do. And if I quit now? It'd be like I'm throwing everything he ever gave me right back at him; like everything he taught me doesn't matter, doesn't mean anything. But it does matter, doesn't it? We _can_ make a difference Dean and, I think...I think maybe that's our inheritance, our legacy. He didn't leave us a pile of money, but what he _did_ leave us is priceless. So, big brother...Are we good?"

Sam felt Dean's fingers wrap more firmly around his hand, green eyes shone with a brother's love and gazed down at Sam. For a moment Dean remained silent, then that slow, easy smile started to appear, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah. We're good Sammy...We're _very_ good."

**FIN**

**o-o-o**

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_Chick xxxx_


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